


For Old Times' Sake

by WizardWriting



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Developing Relationship, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-War, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardWriting/pseuds/WizardWriting
Summary: After the War, Harry and Hermione spend a weekend together at Godric's Hollow, questioning their feelings for Ron and Ginny...and coming to terms with a mutual attraction - towards each other.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 19
Kudos: 173





	1. Friday

**Friday  
** **Toad in the Hole. Strangers. A Nightmare (and the Tea that Followed).**

* * *

Hermione opened the wooden gate and, after acknowledging the Memorial that rose up out of the ground ( _They shouldn't have written on the sign!_ said Hermione, outraged. Harry didn't think the same as he replied with: _It's brilliant. I'm glad they did._ ), took up the short path that weaved its way between the waist-high grass on either side of her. Overhead, purple clouds bruised the sky as the sun disappeared somewhere over the horizon.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door and waited, hoping Harry was at home. She took a chance in coming to Godric's Hollow unannounced even though she considered writing a letter to see if it was okay that she did. However, the spontaneous side of her, a side that had bloomed like a field of flowers during the throes of the War, took hold as she pretty much convinced herself that Harry wouldn't mind such a visit. ( _At least she hoped he wouldn't._ )

The door opened and Harry, clearly surprised, said, "Hermione? What're you doing here?"

"I came to see you," she replied, one hand wringing the other like a Muggle would a wet towel. She usually did this when she happened to be nervous and though Harry didn't make her nervous, she hadn't seen him since the end of the War.

Looking over her shoulder, he asked, "Did you come by yourself?"

When she nodded, Hermione could've sworn she saw relief ring his eyes like that of a photon sphere orbiting a black hole.

"Come in," he said, stepping aside.

She looked around in the entryway and saw stairs that led to the first floor while the dining room was off to one side and the sitting room was off to the other.

"Did you have dinner yet?" he asked, beckoning her to follow him as he led her past the staircase to the back of the home. "I'm making Toad in the Hole."

"Hungry, are you?"

"Famished," was his reply. "Want some?"

"Sounds delicious," she said.

In the kitchen, he pulled out a chair for her at the table (a table just big enough for two) and went to man the food at the counter. Hermione set her beaded bag on the floor and watched him as he did this, shocked to find that he seemed to be extremely comfortable and, dare she say, even relaxed. Yet she was happy for him as it was a better sight than finding him alone and miserable – a thought that terrorized her dreams at night. It was something that scared her greatly and thus, part of her visit was to see if he was okay.

"How'd you know where I was?" Harry asked, turning around to face her. His wand was in his hand (as he had just used a variation of the Fire-Making Charm to crisp the edges of the Toad in the Hole), pointing somewhere over his shoulder.

"I ran upon some luck, actually," she answered. "I thought you might've gone to Grimmauld Place so I went there first."

"Saw Kreacher, did you?"

"He told me where you were."

Harry scoffed but smiled despite himself. He turned back around and continued preparing dinner, waving his wand at two plates when he was finished. They spiraled over to the table in lazy twisters while two bottles of Butterbeer followed shortly after.

"Did you mean to be by yourself?" Hermione asked as Harry took a seat across from her - their knees bumped each other under the table. "You left Hogwarts without telling anyone."

"I needed some space," he said, using his fork and knife to cut up the sausage. "It was all too much to handle and I didn't want to be around so many people afterwards."

"And how do you feel now?"

"Better," he replied. "It's been a couple of weeks since the end of the War, but it feels like a lot longer than that. And I mean that in a good way."

Hermione gave him a small smile and started on her dinner, choosing to go after the sausage (drowned in onion gravy) first as the smell of it was intoxicating, so much so that it was like she was possessed by it. After taking a bite of it, she almost groaned at how good it was.

"What's the verdict?" he said, nodding at her plate.

"Not half-bad," she told him.

"Not half-bad?" he repeated. "Does that mean you like it?"

"Very much," she nodded. "I'm a bit miffed that you're better at cooking than me."

This made him grin. "Well, I did have a lot of practice with the Dursleys. Besides, baking's more of your thing."

After taking a sip of Butterbeer, she asked, "Are you ever going to see them again…your Aunt and Uncle?"

"Dunno," he shrugged. "It's like water under a bridge with them." Then, looking off to the side, he continued with, "Although, right before he left, my cousin Dudley did seem to finally regard me as an actual person instead of his own personal punching bag."

"Do you know where they went?"

"Into hiding, but don't know where exactly. My guess is somewhere far away," and he waved his hand in a wide arc as if to show her just how far away they went.

"They'll come back though, right?"

"I suppose," he said. "They've been in Little Whinging ever since they got married."

"You think you might've turned a corner with them?"

He thought about this for a minute (eating more of his dinner as he did) and shrugged. "I don't really care if I did or didn't. It'd be enough to know that they're safe."

A bird landed on the sill of the open window above the sink. It hopped along it as if it were involved in a game of Muggle hopscotch and flew away when it reached the end.

"What about the Weasleys? How're they doing?" Harry asked. "I can't imagine it's easy with Fred and all."

"It's been rough," Hermione said. "Losing Fred has been hard on all of them and I wouldn't expect anything less. I mean, it's been hard on me too."

"Same," Harry thought to add.

"I just feel like they deserve some privacy right now."

"You were staying at the Burrow with them?"

"For a bit," she said. "Ron invited me over."

"Have you guys figured things out going forward?"

Hermione shrugged, "We decided it'd be best to take a break. Technically, we weren't ever together in the first place but-,"

"What about that snog?"

"Oh, please! I acted without thinking," she told him, feeling her face burn like the edges of the Toad in the Hole had under Harry's ministrations. "Ron made that comment about the house-elves down in the kitchen and…well, you know the rest," and her hand fluttered in the air.

"So you didn't mean to snog him?"

"Of course not!" she exclaimed. "I don't fancy him in that way!"

"I'm sure he sees things a little differently."

"He does," and Hermione sighed heavily. "That's why he didn't particularly care for the fact of taking a break in the first place."

"It wasn't consensual, was it?" Harry asked. "Taking a break was your idea?"

Setting down her fork and knife, she nodded. "It was my idea, yes."

Drumming his fingers on the table, he said, "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm kind of having the same problem with Ginny."

"Is that why you've been avoiding her?"

"I haven't been avoiding her," Harry replied, his brows pulling together across his head.

"She thinks you have," Hermione said.

"Listen, when I broke up with her at Dumbledore's funeral, I had every intention of getting back together when the War was over with."

"So what happened?"

"I think time apart from each other put things into perspective. I still like Ginny, but it's more like siblings would like each other, not as anything more." He took another bite of his dinner and said, "Looking for Horcruxes changed me in a way that I didn't realize until this past week."

"What kind of changes?"

"Things," he said cryptically, not looking at her. Instead, he was fixated on the window above the sink, almost as if he hoped the bird would come back and have another go at hopscotch.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Er, not right now," and he shook his head.

Returning to her dinner, Hermione wondered if the changes Harry went through were the same changes that she went through, with the biggest change of all being the recognition of her feelings towards Harry himself. It was third year when her feelings started to change though she wasn't aware of such changes until the year after. She once believed she fancied her best friend Ron, especially after the Yule Ball fiasco, but when Harry emerged with Cedric Diggory's body at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, a prophet of Voldemort returning, it was clear that she instead fancied her other best friend. That was why she kissed him on the cheek at King's Cross before the summer holiday. And no, she hadn't meant to do that, especially in front of Ron. It just kind of happened. It was an intuition she decided to run with and bugger anyone who thought it had meant anything more than friendship. But to her, it meant a lot more and though she tried to convey the meaning behind her kiss, she figured it was lost on Harry and he would forget about it over the summer break.

Thus, she wasn't at all disappointed when Harry came to Grimmauld Place over the summer, simmering over the fact that he'd been isolated, on Dumbledore's orders no less, away from the action, so to speak, on what was being done to combat Voldemort. Not once did Harry mention her kiss and her gut told her that given his attitude of being axed from any and all events related to magic, it'd be best not to bring it up. And that's not even mentioning that Ron was always with them, and though she was surprised he hadn't caused a scene at King's Cross when she kissed Harry, she could make no promises about it then.

As fifth year went on and it was clear that Harry was vying for Cho's attention, she sat in the backseat, watching the scenery from the windows on either side of her. Unfortunately, the scenery itself wasn't all that nice to look at: apart from Harry's random temper explosions, a trait she often associated Ron with, the Ministry and _Daily Prophet_ were playing a game of dirty politics, assassinating the characters of both Dumbledore and Harry, refusing to believe such lies that Voldemort had returned. Not only that, but Professor Umbridge had imposed draconian laws on Hogwarts in the hopes of bringing the school under Ministry regulation.

But Old Toad Face, her own moniker for the Hogwarts High Inquisitor, never made Hermione forget about the kiss she gave Harry. Sure, Old Toad Face reminded her that the scenery from the backseat was ugly and vile, and she was also sure of the fact that Harry was still after Cho. Yet she couldn't help but replay her kiss and often did so in the middle of the night when she couldn't sleep. She always smiled at the memory and just wished Harry had remembered it too. There were times when she actually thought he did remember but had a dinner buffet to sort through first before he could get to the dessert because she hoped that her kiss was sweet enough to be categorized as dessert. She wouldn't complain at all if this was true.

However, it was when Harry wandered back into the Common Room one night in a bit of a daze right before the winter holiday that she fully realized her feelings for him had changed completely. She still thought of him as one of her best friends, but now there was a lot more baggage attached to it. It was just unfortunate of her that her awareness of regarding Harry as a future partner happened on the same night he kissed Cho. (Or had Cho kissed him?)

Luckily, she was writing a letter to Viktor and that acted as a screen of secrecy for her to hide behind, lest she declare her love for Harry and confuse him even more because he did look confused after the kiss. He described it as _wet_ , which is probably why he was confused in the first place, and Hermione, despite the spoil that she felt in the pit of her stomach, gave Harry and Ron a small dose of what Cho was experiencing during the snogging session.

When Harry began to believe he was a bad kisser and was the sole reason Cho was crying so hard, Hermione had to step in and step in she did. Of course, she didn't really know how it was like to kiss him, but if her dreams were any indication, then Harry was a fine kisser indeed. She actually never told anyone of these dreams because they were private to her. She arrested and jailed them in the remotest cells of her mind so that anyone would have great difficulty in finding them.

Of all people, Ron had nearly caused her to confess to Harry right then and there that she fancied him when he believed Harry and Hermione had snuck off sometime before and had their own snogging session. ( _How do you know?_ Ron asked her sharply when Hermione vetoed the absurd idea that Harry believed he was a bad kisser.) Thankfully, in one of the few times where she had been quick on her feet, she brought up the idea of Cho crying all the time. She didn't know if this was true, but at least it deflected Ron's interference on probing Hermione about how she would know that Harry wasn't a bad kisser. Though he was unsuspecting of the fact, Ron was tiptoeing dangerously close to the truth and that wouldn't be the last time he had done so either.

Deciding it would be best to let such things go for now, Hermione asked, "Do you think you're going to stay here at the cottage?"

"Probably," Harry said, surveying the kitchen. "After fixing it up, it already feels like home."

"What're you going to do with Grimmauld Place?"

"I'll leave it as it is for now," he said, picking up his bottle of Butterbeer and draining it. "I don't fancy moving in there, you know."

"Does that mean you won't be going back to Hogwarts?"

"Dunno," he shrugged. "I haven't really thought about it." Then: "Are you?"

"I feel like I have to."

"No one's forcing you."

"I know, but I feel like I should. It'd only be proper."

"You think many people will go back?"

"No idea," and she shook her head. "They'll probably see how the summer goes before making a decision."

Harry seemed to consider this and said, "Maybe I'll do the same."

"Will you?" she asked, a bit surprised.

"It wouldn't hurt, would it?"

"Not at all," she told him. She finished her dinner and said, "It might be a little strange if Ron and Ginny go back though."

"I don't think Ron has any intention of returning."

"Why's that?"

"He just doesn't seem to care about his N.E.W.T.s."

"What's he going to do if he doesn't go back to Hogwarts?"

"Well, Kingsley did offer him to enroll in the Auror Training Progamme," Harry said.

"But isn't more years of study required for that?"

"Three years," Harry told her.

"And Ron knows of this?" she asked. "I mean, he was a bit lacking when it came to doing his schoolwork." With some hesitancy, she added, "You were too."

"Some things I didn't find very interesting."

"Did Kingsley offer you to enroll in the Auror Training Progamme also?"

"I already said I didn't want to."

"Are you serious?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"I don't want to be an Auror anymore," he said. "I did at one time, but it doesn't really appeal to me like it did before."

"So what do you want to do?" Hermione asked.

"Not sure," he replied. "But I imagine something'll come to me eventually."

"After you finish Hogwarts, right?"

"Sure," he nodded and they both laughed. "By the way, what're you going to do about your parents? I imagine you'll see to them soon?"

"I already have," she said softly.

"Really?" When she nodded, he asked, "So they're back in England?"

Hermione shook her head and said, "Not exactly."

She paused for a minute, taking the time to make sure her emotions were in check lest they spill out of her and was like a tidal wave against an unsuspecting Harry who had his own emotions to take care of. She knew that he didn't particularly like it when girls cried in front of him and she'd be damned if crying was what she did right now. Besides, she felt as if she couldn't cry anymore on the matter, having already done so plenty of times before.

"The False Memory Charm I placed on my parents…well, let's just say that it's not supposed to be used on Muggles."

"It's irreversible?"

"Along the lines of permanent insanity…yes and no," Hermione said.

Harry sighed heavily. "What does that mean exactly?"

"Counteracting the False Memory Charm would likely have my parents become lifelong residents at Bethlem Royal."

"I'm sorry-," Harry began.

"Don't," Hermione interrupted, harsher than she intended to. "I already knew of the risks associated with performing the False Memory Charm on my parents and that'll be something I'll have to live with from now on."

"Hang on," Harry said, shaking his head as if to clear it. "The False Memory Charm…you knew that trying to reverse it would make your parents go mad?"

She nodded once.

"Then why'd you do it in the first place?"

Silence ensued and for what it was worth, there wasn't any accusation Harry charged Hermione with. Instead, it was as if he was trying his best to understand why she'd give up her parents…willingly at that. She supposed it was difficult for him to wrap his head around the fact, given the untimely ends his own parents met at the hands of Voldemort. However, she believed that she acted within her own parameters of justifying her own actions, no matter how harsh they appeared to be.

"I never told them," she said.

"Never told them what?" Harry asked.

"The specifics of everything that happened at Hogwarts," she replied. "If they ever found out…I would've been long gone – probably after first year even." Her eyes found Harry's empty plate across from her own, of which there was a small puddle of onion gravy left over. "And because I left out the more important parts, there was this divide between us, separating me from my parents. I felt it and I'm positive they did as well."

"It got bigger, didn't it…that divide?" Harry guessed.

"A lot bigger," she said. "In the end, it got so big that there wasn't any bridge long enough to bring us back together again."

"This is my fault," Harry commented.

"Don't go blaming yourself now!" Hermione said, suddenly stern. She waved her finger at him as if he was misbehaving (and technically, he was). "I'm the one who chose not to tell my parents anything!"

"Because of me," he countered.

"Don't be daft! Of course it was because of you!"

"They're your parents," Harry tried to reason.

"Strangers, you mean," she said. "Because that's all we were to each other…strangers."

"And you're just going to leave them in Australia?"

"I know exactly where they are," she replied and her gaze drifted to the blackness that existed just beyond the window above the sink. "When I used the False Memory Charm on my parents, I put an idea inside their heads for them to open a dental practice, Sweet Teeth, on Racecourse Road."

"Racecourse Road?" Harry repeated.

"According to what I was able to find at the Hogwarts Library, it's a dining, entertainment, and shopping district in Hamilton – pretty close to the Bewitched Bungalow, the magical community in Brisbane."

"Think you might visit them again?"

She shrugged, "Even if I wanted to, it'd only get harder the more I did. I know it seems cruel to leave them there, but they seemed so happy as Wendell and Monica Wilkins. Perhaps it's for the best to leave them be."

"You sure that's what you want?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I'm willing to give my support in whatever you decide to do," Harry said.

"That's a first," and Hermione smiled a little. "Usually, it's the other way around."

Looking embarrassed, he ducked his head and said, "You've been there for me a lot of the time…now, I want to be there for you."

"Repaying the favor?"

"More or less," he grinned.

"I never knew you were into humor."

"I like trying new things," he said. "Speaking of which, d'you want to stay the night? Kind of like for old times' sake?"

"You have another room upstairs?"

He nodded and said, "I'll show you."

* * *

When they reached the landing, Harry led Hermione to the door nearest the stairs and opened it. Inside, she saw a small cot, the home of half a dozen stuffies, resting against a pale blue wall with a rocking chair as its neighbor.

"This was your room, wasn't it?" Hermione guessed.

"Most likely," he said and nodded his head.

"Are you sure you want to give it up? Considering what happened, it seems wrong to change it."

"Where are you going to stay then?"

"I could always go to the Leaky Cauldron-,"

"No," Harry said at once. "Absolutely not."

"Excuse me?" she asked. "The Leaky Cauldron is a perfectly acceptable place to stay for the night!"

"Sure it is, but staying here is much better."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest and said, "And why's that?"

"Because you'll be right across the hall from me," and he turned, pointing his finger at the door just opposite. "Like I said, it'll be for old times' sake."

"Well," Hermione started, "if you really wanted it to be for old times' sake, we would have to sleep in the same room."

Harry grinned at her and asked, "You want to?"

"I was only joking," and Hermione smiled (though at Harry's suggestion, she had grown quite warm as if she had flown too close to the sun). "This is your last chance. Are you sure you don't mind changing the room around?"

"Do whatever you want with it," he said. "It's yours."

At this, Hermione felt a hive of butterflies riot her stomach (much like frogs rioted the pond in the back garden of the Burrow) and waved her wand. The cot was instantly transfigured into a bed, complete with its own headboard, while the rocking chair next to it changed into a recliner, one she hoped to use often as she read. To finish things off, a wardrobe popped into existence, monopolizing a corner of the room. It was a simple but practical environment, something she positively thrived in. And if Harry didn't happen to like it, he could always alter it to fit his needs when she left. ( _Do whatever you want with it. It's yours._ )

"Any reason you decided to keep these things?" Harry asked, walking over to the bed and pointing at the stuffies.

"Something to keep as a memory," she explained, standing next to him. "I don't think it'd be right to get rid of everything."

"But what d'you need stuffies for?"

"I don't exactly need them," she said. "I just want them."

"Think they'll help you fend off any nightmares you might have?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she told him. "Here, look at this one," she said, picking up a stuffie in the shape of a doe. "And that one there is a stag," she pointed a finger.

"The dog and wolf too," and Harry nodded his head at the stuffies themselves.

Hermione kept from mentioning that a rat was missing from the stuffie collection and wondered if Harry noticed.

As she set her beaded bag on the recliner, she asked, "Are you sure it's okay if I stay with you?"

"Why're you so concerned?" he replied, turning to face her.

"Because it feels like you want to be alone."

"I guess it depends on the company," he shrugged.

"What about Ron and Ginny?"

"Probably not," was his answer and he rubbed the back of his neck. "It's hard to explain, but Godric's Hollow feels like a secret between us. I mean, we came here together last Christmas and it was something that no one else was part of…not Ron and not Ginny. To me, that makes it all the more special."

"Sooner or later, Ron and Ginny will want to know where you are."

"You found me easily enough," he said.

"I told you: I ran upon some luck."

"Then maybe they will too."

"And if they don't?" she asked.

"I'll visit the Burrow," he replied. "For now, I think the separation will do us some good…it'll give us chance to see things from a different point of view, you know?"

"What kind of things?"

"Relationships mainly," he said, sitting on (Hermione's) bed.

"You're on about Ginny, aren't you?" she asked, sitting next to him.

Harry was quiet for a while, seeming to be lost in his own thoughts. However, she couldn't blame him for this…not when he sought refuge in Godric's Hollow to sort out such thoughts in the first place. And as difficult as it was, Hermione figured it was something everyone had to do: pick up the pieces of whatever's left over and move on – if one could, that is. After all, the nightmares came for her every night, just like she assumed they came for Harry and Ron. But she wondered what kind of nightmares they had for it was assuredly different from her own.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," he said, "Ginny included." And after a pause, he continued with, "But there isn't any other way to go about it."

"Do you think that after seeing things from a different perspective…from a different point view…that you'll change your mind later on?"

He didn't hesitate when he said, "Definitely not."

"How can you be so sure?"

Looking over at her, he said, "I just am," and gave her a small smile.

* * *

She was back at Malfoy Manor – the Drawing Room, to be exact – and Bellatrix was standing over her.

"I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?"

Her dark and shiny hair was wild about her face, making her look like a lion with a mane, while her heavily-lidded eyes burned like twin suns from the fire in the fireplace.

"You are a lying, filthy Mudblood and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth!"

Draco stood like a ghost between his parents, their shadows haunting the wall behind them. And nearby was Greyback, with matted grey hair and whiskers that seemed to quiver in excitement. He was staring hungrily at Hermione, running his tongue over his pointy teeth.

"What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!"

Hermione, barely clinging to what was left of her conscious state, had had no doubt that Bellatrix would love to run her through with the knife she had in her hand. Surely, Death would follow soon after…only it was unfortunate that if she were to die, then Malfoy Manor would be the last thing she saw before then.

"What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! _CRUCIO!_ "

It was like a thousand white-hot knives piercing every inch of her skin…it was like her bones were on fire…it was like insanity. The pain was intense and powerful, so much so that she shrieked over and over until her voice had gone hoarse…so much so that she writhed from side to side like a lizard's tail after it's been severed from its body. She couldn't speak…she couldn't think…all she was able to do, besides scream, was cry, and cry she did. And though tears of Phoenixes were able to heal, her own tears did nothing of the sort.

"How did you get into my vault? Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"

After coming up with a cover story, she sobbed – that was all she could do. She was at the mercy of Bellatrix, who was likely to do her in when the goblin in the cellar refuted her claim that the Sword of Gryffindor was a copy. She bought herself a few minutes of time – maybe even less – until Death came, just like it did for everyone who had passed on before her.

"And I think we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."

He moved forward, his eyes glittering like diamonds, and when he reached his hands out, she saw that his nails were decayed, long and yellow. She closed her own eyes and waited for the strike…only that it never came because Harry and Ron sprinted into the room. She was flooded with relief, especially after hearing Harry yell _Stupefy!_ and hearing Ron yell _Expelliarmus!_ Such was guillotined when Bellatrix grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her roughly to her feet.

"STOP OR SHE DIES!" Bellatrix commanded and thrust the knife against her throat. "Drop your wands," she whispered. "Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!" When Harry and Ron stood like statues, Bellatrix screamed, "I said drop them!" and Hermione felt the tip of the knife puncture her so that blood bubbled out of the wound.

Reluctantly, Harry and Ron gave up their wands so that Draco could scurry over and collect them. As he did so, Bellatrix said, "Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl after what you have done tonight."

Harry and Ron's protests died as they were dragged out of the Drawing Room while Hermione froze in horror as Greyback lunged straight at her: there was a feral look in his eyes while his jaws gnashed violently together.

"I am hungry and need to eat!" he snarled.

Hermione screamed.

* * *

Aware of the fact that someone was shaking her, quite aggressively too, she opened her eyes and saw Harry standing over her, worried.

"Nightmare?" he guessed.

Disoriented, Hermione blinked a couple of times, trying to get her bearings about her.

"What're you doing in here?" she asked, pushing herself up against the headboard.

"I heard you screaming," he answered.

"Was I really?" she said, though the image of Greyback charging at her (with a feral look in his eyes and his jaws gnashing violently together) came back, strong and unbidden. Thus, she supposed that Harry was right and she really had been screaming. Bugger for that.

"How about some tea?" Harry asked. "I find that it usually helps."

"Aren't you tired?"

"I'll sleep in tomorrow," he shrugged, offering his hand. "After all, it's only Saturday."

They took down the stairs, careful not to trip lest they take a likely horrid fall, with their shadows stalking them. Harry left her in the sitting room ( _The couch's pretty comfortable,_ he said to her) while he went into the kitchen, tinkering with the hob and kettle.

Hugging herself, Hermione looked around aimlessly, wandering over to the mantle above the fireplace. There, she saw several pictures: the first was of James devouring a package of McVitie's Milk Choc Hobnobs while reading the _Quidditch Times_ ; the second was of Lily in the kitchen with a cloud of flour fogging her – it looked as if she was baking a Battenberg; the third was of James and Lily kissing in the backyard amidst a city of glow-worms that hovered just beyond a line of trees. She smiled at each of these in turn, especially the last one where it appeared as if James and Lily were move in love with each other than life itself. Sure, they were young at the time but the adage, age is just a number, still held true, particularly with them.

"Like them, do you?" Harry asked from behind her.

She turned and saw him looking at the pictures of his parents.

"Were these already here when you came by?" she said.

"Haven't been touched," he confirmed, handing her a teacup. Then he added quickly, "Be careful with that, it's hot."

"Thanks," and she took a sip.

"Want to tell me what your nightmare was about?" he asked, leading her over to the couch.

They sat at opposite ends with their legs splayed out in front of them so that their feet touched.

After drinking more of her tea, Hermione said, "It's always the same one…Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix is there and Greyback too."

"How long has this been going on for?"

"Weeks," she replied, somber. Then: "It makes me wonder if it'll ever go away."

"Maybe we should try some Dreamless Sleep Potion."

"We?" Hermione asked. "You've been having nightmares too?" Even though she already supposed as much, he never confirmed the supposition himself.

"Only one," he said, "but it comes back every night."

"And what's it about?"

He hesitated for a bit, his eyes looming over the rim of his own teacup, before saying, "It's the same as yours…Malfoy Manor. But instead of Bellatrix and Greyback, it's you."

"Me?" she asked, confused.

"Your screams," he explained. "I hear them whenever I go to sleep…well, I hear them whenever I try to go to sleep."

Hermione felt that the space between them was thick with tension, plagued by the memories of what happened at Malfoy Manor…the capture, the torture, and the escape, of which culminated with Dobby's death. The fact of the matter was that even though they'd made it out alive, it was by a fraction that they did – or perhaps it was even less than that. Who knew that Hermione, curious and enthusiastic about a world in which she hadn't known existed, would be tortured years later by those who believed her kind didn't belong. She mentally scoffed at this because she never really belonged with Muggles either – her parents and the divide she had with them was evidence of this along with the lack of friends her own age even more so.

"It's over with," she said.

"But that doesn't mean the nightmares will stop," Harry pointed out. "Maybe you're right in that they never will…at least not completely."

"So how is it that you seemed so comfortable and relaxed when making dinner before…remember, the Toad in the Hole?"

"I don't have any nightmares during the day," he shrugged. "And I tend not to think about them either." Finishing his tea, he said, "Besides, being here is kind of therapeutic in a way. It's like even though my parents aren't alive anymore, this cottage was a part of them that's now a part of me."

"You mean that there's a connection?"

"Of sorts," he replied.

Smiling, Hermione said, "Well, if your parents' cottage is a form of therapy, perhaps your nightmares will go away and you won't have to worry about them anymore."

"What about you?"

"Forgot that you mentioned some Dreamless Sleep Potion, did you?"

Grinning, he suggested, "How about we sleep together? I don't mean romantically or anything," he added quickly, unable to hide the blush the made his face turn a furious shade of red (similar to that of a sunburn). "Kind of like how it was when we were on the run."

"For old times' sake?" Hermione asked.

"For old times' sake," Harry confirmed.

Waving her wand, Hermione conjured two mattresses out of thin air, completed with bed sheets and duvets that had the Gryffindor Lion on them. They snuggled next to the fireplace as Harry summoned the doe, stag, dog, and wolf stuffies from upstairs.

He handed them over to her and said, "They'll help with the nightmares."

"You sure about that?"

"See how you feel in the morning," he told her.

She huffed, "Fine then…I will."


	2. Saturday

**Saturday  
Charged Moments + Confessions. Us. The Art of Snogging.  
**

* * *

She remembered.

There was only one wand between them then with Harry's having been divorced from him because of a Blasting Curse she had sent at Nagini in the upstairs bedroom of Bathilda Bagshot's cottage in Godric's Hollow. And yes, even though she had saved their lives (he told her as much the morning after), Harry's broken wand was more than a casualty and because of it, he was angry with her. But given the circumstances, she supposed he had every right to be: that winter had been nothing short of brutal and instead of keeping warm, both of them were constantly cold, her jar of Bluebell Flames having only done so much. And searching for Voldemort's Horcruxes had been taxing, more so than anything she'd ever done before in her life. Most of the time, she felt that instead of progressing, they were actually regressing, not coming any closer to finding the rest of the Horcruxes than when Harry had first told her about them.

That was partially the reason as to why Ron had left. And in the weeks since he did, Hermione remembered the pain she felt with his departure. However, she wasn't the only one who felt empty and hollow…because Harry did too – she knew he did as she knew him as well as she knew herself. ( _I just hoped, you know, after we'd been running round a few weeks, we'd have achieved something_ … _We thought you knew what you were doing_ … _I get it, you choose him_.) Ron's words were like a bucket of ice water in the morning, biting and stinging. It was painful to her them spoken, especially between best friends. And for a while, Hermione thought that her friendship with Ron was like an empty bank vault at Gringotts, the Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts having been robbed by an impossible task that seemed to have no end in sight.

For what it was worth, Hermione stayed with Harry, weathering the storms Ron couldn't. In the process of Harry becoming a wanted man, she was wanted woman – namely by the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, headed by Old Toad Face. They moved from place to place, mere hideouts amongst the English countryside, desperately searching for Voldemort's Horcruxes and trying to destroy them. Yet they were running close to empty, Ron's departure clear evidence of this, and frustration was beginning its acquisition on the both of them. And that was what started it.

On a snowy hilltop, they were arguing about Dumbledore's letter to Grindelwald about plotting their rise to power over Muggles. Alarmed by his expression, she knew then that Harry admired Dumbledore far more than she initially realized – she, too, didn't think it made for nice reading, even if it was Rita Skeeter who outed Dumbledore in the first place. _He loved you…I know he loved you,_ she remembered whispering to him. He didn't think so and dismissed her with: _Thanks for the tea. I'll finish the watch. You get back in the warm._ Though she was hurt by this, she listened to him but not before brushing the top of his head lightly with her hand.  
Because even if her feelings for Harry had started to change in third year, it was her brushing her hand atop his head that she felt intimate with him (bypassing the kiss she gave him on the cheek at King's Cross before the summer holiday at the end of fourth year). It was a cacophony of emotions she wrestled with shortly thereafter, all started by what Ron had said: _I get it. You choose him._ Though she denied it at the time, she thought she might've been unconvincing. Perhaps Ron noticed this and he factored this as another argument in his favor to up and leave.

Sure, she cried a lot when Ron left and hadn't bothered to speak with Harry at all. She was depressed and wanted the world to be depressed with her. But after a period of time, she found that her crying lessened before stopping altogether. Because of this, she believed she'd turned a corner: she no longer came to breakfast with her eyes puffy and red; she no longer randomly spaced out during the day; and she no longer broadcasted the series of crying episodes that Harry had been the sole audience member to at night. And it was one simple touch that helped her…a spark that touched a waiting fire.

Returning to the task at hand, Hermione readied the fry-up with baked beans, bangers, black bacon, buttered toast, fried eggs, grilled tomatoes, and mushrooms. She took out of the kitchen and smiled at Harry fast asleep on one of the mattresses she conjured for them last night, the stuffies around him as if they were his own personal bodyguards.

Walking over to him, she said softly, "Harry, wake up," and shook his shoulder gently.

He slowly blinked his eyes open and then yawned, stretching his arms high over his head. Looking around, he squinted before blindly reaching out a hand, grabbing his glasses from the coffee table.

"Up already?" he asked and smiled as if he was tipsy.

"You know I'm an early riser."

"Sure, but what'd you need to get up early for today?" and he yawned again. "It's Saturday."

"Well, since you made dinner last night, I thought it'd only be appropriate to make us some breakfast this morning," she said.

"Appropriate, huh?"

"Appropriate," Hermione confirmed and waved her wand. The tray that carried the fry-up floated between them, resting on their mattresses like a buffer zone of sorts.

"Breakfast in bed seems like a fine way to start a Saturday, don't you think?"

"Couldn't agree more," he replied and started on the fry-up.

Hermione did as well though at a more sedated pace, choosing to go after the fried eggs and toast first.

Around them, rain drops began to pepper the windows, reminding her of some of the places where they stayed when on the run: rain-swept woods, a mountainside where sleet played a vicious game of Muggle dodgeball against the sides of their tent, and a wide marsh where frigid waters nearly flooded them and their belongings. Because of this, she shouldn't be the least bit surprised that she much preferred staying with Harry in Godric's Hollow rather than staying with Harry somewhere in the English countryside – the woods, mountainside, and marsh be damned.

"This is delicious," Harry said. "Who knew you had it in you to make all this?"

"On again about my cooking skills when on the run, are you?"

He only shrugged.

"If you must know, even though you're better at it than me, I'm pretty good with a fry-up."

"I know," and Harry gestured down to the half-eaten one between them. "But is this all you're good at?"

"You said so yesterday that baking's more of my thing," she told him. "I mean, you weren't wrong."

"Have any plans to bake this weekend?"

"What're you in the mood for?"

He thought for a moment, a forkful of baked beans on temporary delay, and said, "Your specialty."

"I think it's nice of you to assume I even have a specialty."

"You don't?"

"I'm good of some of this and some of that," she said.

"Kind of cryptic, but I'll take what I can get," he grinned, making her do the same. "How long have you been up anyway?"

"Close to an hour."

"It doesn't take that long for a fry-up."

"I was thinking about different things," and she sipped her orange juice.

"Care to let me in on them?"

Even though Hermione wanted to mention the memory of brushing her hand over his head, she thought that there was a good possibility – a strong one – that Harry wouldn't have thought twice about it. What was affectionate and intimate to her was nothing more than a platonic gesticulation to him, one he wouldn't lose any sleep over. Could she really tell him that there had been a lot of feelings she was trying to convey in that touch? Could she really tell him that, in her own mind, the boundaries of friendship with Harry were blurred (and had been for some time now)? Could she really tell him the truth and the repercussions that came along with it?

"Ron…Godric's Hollow…Dumbledore," she said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. (She figured she wasn't doing a good enough job because Harry was looking at her strangely.)

"It's in the past though, isn't it?"

"You remember everything?"

He paused for a minute, his eyes taking to the window nearest to them (the rain made it seem like the glass was sporting a breastplate of bubble wrap), and said, "It's hard to forget…the good and the bad."

"There was good in all that?" she asked, and even though she was goading him, Hermione just couldn't help herself – she had to know about his thoughts, if there were any, about her brushing her hand over his head.

"Despite everything that happened up to that point in time, we were alive and together."

"Together?" Hermione repeated. "From what I remember, we were both miserable…maybe we were even more than miserable."

"It wasn't like that all the time," he countered. "If we decided not to visit Godric's Hollow, I would've never known about my parents' cottage."

"You like it here, don't you?"

"I love it," he said instantly, looking around them, "more than anywhere else."

"Hogwarts included?"

He nodded and continued, "There was also that time on the hilltop," but stopped soon after.

Hermione regarded him carefully, seeing a maelstrom of emotions spin around his eyes, so much so that it made her a little dizzy. She could tell that he was undergoing some type of internal conflict, a conflict, she supposed, he hadn't underwent before. But something was there…a resolution of sorts that loomed like the sunrise. All that remained was how Harry would interpret the resolution itself – whether it was something he'd pursue or not pursue.

"You brushed my head," he said slowly as if he was coming out of a daze, "ran your hand over it."

"I did," she agreed.

"Why?"

Of all the things she expected when coming to Godric's Hollow, this was the very last thing on the itinerary – something she hadn't foreseen happening at all, especially on a Saturday morning. Such a discussion was coming dangerously close to the truth of the matter at hand, but the more she thought about it, did she want to keep putting the truth off? Harry already expressed his thoughts about Ginny and she had already expressed her thoughts about Ron – namely that both of their relationships were a relic of a past they wished not to continue on with. To put it simply, they changed, and with it, their feelings changed too. Instead of rekindling what they had, now they had a chance to start something different…something else…something new.

Unsure of how he'd respond to her long-standing secret, she said, "Things…they just all came to a head."

"What kind of things are you talking about?" he asked.

Shaking her head, Hermione grabbed the tray (abstaining from asking whether or not Harry was finished with his breakfast – though if his empty plate was an answer unto itself, she guessed that he was more than finished) and took to the kitchen.

"Hermione," Harry called out, following her.

She ignored him as she deposited the tray in the sink and charmed to have the plates (and cutlery) clean themselves. Watching the soap suds lather what was in the sink as if it was some type of therapy, Harry surprised her by grabbing her hand and turning her around so that she faced him.

"What is it?" he said softly.

Figuring it was now or never, she sighed, "I've been keeping something from you...and it's been a long time coming that you actually find out what it's about."

"Did you want to sit down?" and he made to move towards the kitchen table.

"I'd rather not," she replied. Taking a deep breath, she started, "Do you remember in third year when we used the Time Turner to go back in time to save Sirius and Buckbeak?"

"Sure," he said.

"We went to Professor Flitwick's office and you told me to _hold onto you_ – and I did," and here, she took her hand from Harry's and hugged herself as if she was cold, determining that she was cold (at least, a little cold) and assumed the rain outside had something to do with it. "That's when my feelings for you started to change."

What she didn't tell him was that Harry's simple instruction ( _You'd better hold onto me_ ) was part of a memory she'd never forget – she couldn't even if she wanted to – and there was no doubt in her mind that she'd be able to remember every detail of that night. Hermione even dreamt about it over the summer holiday, though she supposed her own fantasies found an unlocked door to enter through because the dreams she had were very different from what had actually happened.

In them, after saving Sirius, Harry and Hermione raced back to the Hospital Wing, though had to take a detour in a deserted classroom to avoid a rather rambunctious Peeves. However, the bloody Poltergeist had heard them go in and decided to lock the door (and, of course, it was in her dreams that the Unlocking Charm was completely ineffective against him). He laughed like a little schoolgirl while taunting them from the corridor. They were rather pressed for time and Hermione ordered him to let them out.

_Kissy kissy opens doorsy!_ he cackled evilly, and stuck his head through the door to bear witness to such a kiss. Harry and Hermione turned to each other, shocked. _Kissy kissy opens doorsy!_ Peeves sang again, almost as if he was egging them on. Then, much to her surprise, Harry stepped forward and kissed her. This was when she'd wake up, her knickers flooded – no, not soaked, but flooded instead. It was just a dream, yes, meaning such events hadn't happened in the way she dreamt, but Merlin help her if she didn't begin doing her own laundry then. She just couldn't face her mum if she happened to notice that Hermione's knickers were always wet.

"Then there was the Triwizard Tournament in fourth year and…well, I kissed you at King's Cross – on the cheek!" she added hastily.

Harry touched his own cheek as if he remembered this, startling Hermione (since she believed he hadn't remembered at all).

"In fifth year, you went after Cho," she soldiered on, "and in sixth year, you went after Ginny-,"

"While you went after Ron," Harry inserted.

"I didn't go after Ron," Hermione said (and nearly scoffed). "I was just angry over the fact that he leveled down to snog someone like Lavender in the Common Room."

"Okay, so you were pining after him," and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Call it whatever you want, but like you said, it's in the past."

The rain was on the window above the sink and Hermione loved the sound – it was the perfect setting to read, just like Harry was reading her…and he was reading her very carefully at that. Yet she was confessing a secret of hers, one she never admitted to anyone else but herself.

"The time on the hilltop came after," she said, "when I brushed my hand over your head."

"So why'd you do it?" he asked again.

She thought he knew what the answer was (Harry wasn't dead from the neck up or anything) but wanted her to say it aloud – kind of like a confession of sorts.

"I think you're fanciable," was her answer and here, she literally felt her cheeks burn, something that had a very low probability of ever happening, especially to her. Even then, she was so hot that she was positive one could fry an egg anywhere on her body. Who knew how delicious it would be and quite frankly, who cared?

"Fanciable?" Harry repeated and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Don't be like that," she told him, "it's embarrassing enough as it is."

"What's there to be embarrassed about?"

"Because I know you don't reciprocate!" and she pointed a finger at him accusingly. "You tend to go after those who're attractive like Cho or Ginny."

"And look how they ended up," Harry said. "Last time I checked, I wasn't with Cho or Ginny anymore...Merlin, I told you already that I don't want to be with them. It's done and over with – that's all there is to it." Sighing, he went on, "Cho and Ginny…namely Ginny…she didn't find me like you did."

"That comparison is ridiculous," Hermione replied, "because she tried to."

"I'm not making a comparison," he said. "I'm just stating a fact."

"Don't you remember: I ran upon some luck?"

"Maybe it wasn't luck at all," and Harry folded his arms over his chest. (Perhaps he was cold too.) "Maybe it was meant to be."

"You mean like…fate?"

He shrugged, "Is it so hard to believe?"

She thought about this and concluded that fate was something of a delusion, happening exclusively in the many books she read. _It was fate that brought them together_ was an overused trope that only occurred because the author lacked any imagination in bringing two characters together in a viable relationship, one that didn't include the use of fate itself in any way whatsoever. And outside of books, she reckoned that fate didn't exist in bringing two people together. After all, how could it? Fate wasn't some sort of being or deity she put her faith in. It was almost as ridiculous as considering the fact that Cornelius Fudge had an army of Heliopaths at his disposal. Outrageous, wasn't it?

On the other hand, Harry, for whatever reason, seemed to take into consideration that it was fate that brought them together to Godric's Hollow – a place that was quickly becoming somewhat sacred in that it was Harry and Hermione who visited Godric's Hollow last Christmas and it was Harry and Hermione who were in Godric's Hollow right now. Of all the times he had been there, she was by his side; and of all times she had been there, he was by her side. Was this simply a coincidence…or did fate play a bigger role in the assembly of their ( _relationship_ ) friendship? She didn't know the answer to this and because she didn't, she grew frustrated. It didn't do Hermione any good when there was a question to be had and no answer to go along with it. Such violated the laws of sensibility!

"It's hard to believe since I'm not entirely sure that fate exists in the first place," she answered.

"And you wouldn't think less of me if I did?"

She shook her head and said softly, "I could never think less of you…no matter what."

"Not even when we were on the run?" and he hilled a brow at her.

"If anything, that's when I felt the closest to you-,"

"When we were alone and together," he finished.

Outside, the rain was getting heavier and when Hermione looked out the window, she saw that clouds fogged the tops of the trees in the backyard. It was picturesque…and almost wished she had a Muggle camera to take a picture of it. If she did, she'd be sure to show her parents it and – and what? Legalistically, she hadn't any parents…not since she used the False Memory Charm on them and changed their names to Wendell and Monica Wilkins. Thus, her relationship with her parents was temporarily severed…and maybe it was permanently severed. A long time ago, her parents were the only constants in her life; now, however, Harry was the only constant in her life.

"I'd say we give it a try," he said.

"Give what a try?"

"Us."

She waited for a second – a long one, at that – attempting to understand all that was included in his proposal - _Us_. And for all the brain power she had whilst at Hogwarts, such brain power was running close to empty right about now and she cursed herself because of the fact. She then mentally put together a pro and con list with all the positives and negatives that came from a potential relationship with Harry (and Hermione assumed she shouldn't have been too surprised that the positives heavily outweighed the negatives – of which there weren't any).

"Were these the kind of changes you neglected to tell me about last night at dinner?" she asked.

( _What kind of changes?  
Things, he answered cryptically, not looking at her._)

"When we were looking for Voldemort's Horcruxes, d'you remember when I took out the Marauder's Map and kept a close eye on Ginny's dot at Hogwarts?"

"You practically did so every night when Ron had left."

"After awhile, I stopped seeing Ginny's name…I saw yours instead," he replied. "That's when I knew my feelings for you changed." Here, he paused and put his hands in the pockets of his green-checkered pyjama pants (the bottom of his white T-shirt just covered the band of the pyjama pants itself). "Maybe it was a long time coming – I mean, we've known each other since we were eleven."

"And now, years later, here we are," Hermione inserted.

Harry laughed a little at that and agreed, "Here we are."

* * *

When Ron and Lavender started dating, all that was involved in their relationship was snogging…and lots of it. To make matters worse, due to Ron not being invited to Slughorn's Christmas Party in sixth year, he turned to snogging Lavender silly – well, sillier than normal, so much so that if she happened to walk the plank on a Muggle pirate ship, it was likely she'd wander right off the edge of it – to help with his vinegary mood. Hermione was rather disgusted by their outward affection towards each other and was forced to put a Silencing Charm on them when Lavender started making noises in the Gryffindor Common Room that would typically be associated with behind closed doors.

(Things took an even worse turn when Lavender, angry with Slughorn – whom she referred to as the _fat, ugly oaf_ – for not inviting Ron to his Christmas Party, attempted numerous times to rally those who hadn't been invited either, hoping to execute a hostile takeover of the celebration itself. _Inclusion, not discrimination!_ she chanted one night to a small scattering of applause. Ron, who she had forced to stand beside her, was as red as the ripest of tomatoes. Meanwhile, Hermione, who was sitting in a corner, knitting a new wardrobe for Dobby, had her concentration broken so many times by Lavender's recital of _Inclusion, not discrimination!_ that she was tempted to cast the Banishing Spell at her and expel Lavender right out of the Gryffindor Common Room. Then, she could try and rally the Fat Lady and her army of chins to attack Slughorn's Christmas Party instead.)

Even Harry chimed in on Ron and Lavender's aggressive displays of affection as he told her once, _Sometimes I'm left wondering if they're both going to die from a lack of oxygen because they hardly ever come up for air. Not only that, but it's more than embarrassing when they perform like exhibitions in the Great Hall at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Have you noticed?  
_  
However, with Harry and Hermione, things were different. Instead of snogging like their lives depended on it, both were more than content to enjoy the other's company. That was why they had taken up to Harry's room. He was interesting himself in _Quidditch Times_ (and eating McVitie's Milk Choc Hobnobs as well) while Hermione was busy looking over leaflets she had thought to keep when she had a meeting with McGonagall on career advice in fifth year. _Make a bang at the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes_ was her current interest, though _Have you got with it takes to train Security Trolls?_ and _So you think you'd like to work in Muggle Relations_ was close by.

"Aren't you going to sit your N.E.W.T.s?" Harry asked from beside her, his eyes on the dozens of leaflets that were like collapsed headstones atop his bed.

"It's never too early to start thinking about what to do after N.E.W.T.s," she said.

"And Security Trolls interest you, do they?"

"It's a possibility…just like everything else here," and she gestured towards the leaflets.

"D'you have something about an Apprenticeship with McGonagall?" and Harry made a point to look at each leaflet in turn. "You were her favorite student so I'm sure she'd make the offer."

"I was not her favorite," Hermione said, shaking her head.

"You were!"

"Just because I answered some questions-,"

"You answered all the questions," Harry said, grinning.

"Well, what do you expect?" she shrugged. "I didn't see anyone else raising their hands."

"That's because you beat them to it," he told her, nudging her shoulder with his. "Rushing and all."

"I was not rushing! I'm just faster than everyone else!"

"Whatever it was, I think you'd make a great professor."

"Except it was you that taught the D.A.," she pointed out, "not me."

"Because of Umbridge," he said.

_Old Toad Face,_ she corrected mentally.

"At least consider it," and Harry flipped a page in the _Quidditch Times_ (he also devoured an entire hobnob in one bite). "You get on well enough with McGonagall."

"But teaching…really?" and she made a face as if she had swallowed something sour. "I don't think I have enough patience for that."

"You helped me with the Summoning Charm in fourth year," Harry said. "Before then, I was a complete muppet at it."

"All you needed was practice."

"And that practice was by your doing."

"Still…," she trailed off, shaking her head, and doing away with the idea of teaching. "I was leaning more towards the Ministry…maybe the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"Going to carry on with S.P.E.W.?"

"I might," she said a little haughtily. She never did forget that while she made Harry the S.P.E.W. Secretary and the Ron the S.P.E.W. Treasurer (Dobby was the S.P.E.W. house-elf representative), they never did try to recruit new members, as Neville was the only person who joined. "What about you? Have you given any more thought about sitting your N.E.W.T.s?"

"Think I should?"

"Of course!" Hermione said, scandalized that he'd think any differently on the matter. "Though no one's going to force you to."

"Not even you?" When she shook her head, he asked, "Really?"

"You have the rest of the summer to figure things out," she said. "Before then, it's more than likely you'll change your mind a hundred times…possibly even more than that. No matter what, I'll support your decision, even if you choose not to go back to Hogwarts."

"You want me there, don't you?"

She nodded, "For selfish reasons."

Closing the _Quidditch Times_ , he sighed, "And I have to be unselfish about some things."

"Like what?"

"I haven't visited Teddy yet."

"He's with Andromeda?"

"Castle Combe in Wiltshire," he answered. "It wouldn't be right if I didn't stop by at least."

"Well, there's the rest of the weekend to account for," Hermione said. "Did you want to go today or tomorrow?"

"Actually," he started, rubbing the back of his neck, "I was kind of hoping it'd just be the two of us this weekend." Looking at her, he added, "You don't mind, d'you?"

"And what was that about being unselfish?"

"I'll start that on Monday," he said.

"Because that'll make so much of a difference," Hermione replied sarcastically and she rolled her eyes at him.

Harry smiled, "Maybe…maybe not." After a pause (plus a little hesitancy she instantly picked up on), he said, "There's actually something I want to give him…a present, if you will."

"Oh?"

He reached into the drawer of the bedside cabinet and took out a picture, one that had already been framed. Handing it over to Hermione, she took it and saw James, Sirius, and Remus ( _Pettigrew wandered off some time ago,_ Harry said to her, bitter) standing together, their arms strung over each other's shoulders. In addition, a Golden Snitch was buzzing around their heads – Luna might've suggested that the Golden Snitch was, in fact, a Nargle and only her Butterbeer Cork Necklace would keep it away.

"Where'd you get this?" she asked him.

He pointed to the wall that had pictures scattered across it and said, "That was the only one that had Remus. The others are of my parents." Wetting his lips, he asked, "Think Teddy'll like it?"

"He'll love it," Hermione replied, "and the fact that it came from you would make it all the more special to him."

"Hope so," he said.

Running her fingers across the picture, she commented, "You're probably tired of hearing this, but you look so much like your dad." And it was true, he did: they both had the same untidy, jet-black hair; they both had the same thin face; they both had the same eyebrows; and they both had the same mouths. For Merlin's sake, even their round-rimmed glasses were the same! Though it was all very uncanny to say the very least, Hermione didn't mind, because Harry, like James, was very handsome. ( _I think you're fanciable._ )

"Only the eyes are different," Harry added.

Looking over at him, she said, "Bright green, just like your mum."

"Like them, do you?"

"I can't think of anyone who doesn't," and Snape, uninvited, pushed his way to the forefront of her mind.

"That wasn't a line, was it?"

Groaning, Hermione said, "Give me a break, I'm new at this."

"No, we're new at this," Harry corrected.

And before she understood what was happening, he closed in the space between them, his lips finding hers.

* * *

Because the air was chilly, Hermione was glad for the loose sweater she thought to grab before leaving the cottage. And what was more, when Harry wrapped his arm over her shoulders (much like James, Sirius, and Remus did in the picture he planned to give Teddy), pulling her against his side, the chilly air was soon forgotten. Thank Merlin for that!

Light spilled out of the partially-closed curtains of the cottages they passed, the cottages themselves seeming to be both charming and quaint in a whimsical sort of way. It made her think of the Christmastime even if it was many months away still: she'd snuggle into a comfortable couch with a book, a throw over her legs and a fire in the fireplace crackling nearby. Mint hot chocolate would sit on the corner of the coffee table, steam fogging its surface, and she'd take a sip of it while looking at the Christmas tree in the corner of the room. Snow was all but determined to build up on the sill, while a rainbow of lights around the windows flashed like the neon lights at the road junction of Piccadilly Circus in London's West End. And on top of that, Harry was there as well, his presence completing the perfect Christmas picture. She smiled to herself at this.

A dog in the front yard of a cottage they walked by barked at them ( _I've always wanted a Staffie,_ Harry told her) and the couple next door was having a contest of who could scream the loudest. Meanwhile, a cottage across the way had a kaleidoscope of colors firing out of its chimney. Hermione assumed a magical family lived there and wondered what Muggles would say if they saw it. She then shook her head in admonishment as a small explosion rocked the entire cottage, seeming that the cottage itself had sneezed.

"You planning for a big shop at the supermarket?" Harry asked her.

She shook her head, "I just need a few things."

"For what?"

"Baking," she answered. "I figured out what I wanted to do."

"And what's that?" he pressed.

"Tomorrow…you'll find out tomorrow."

"It's not Treacle Tart, is it?"

"But you like Treacle Tart," she said. "It's your favorite!"

"Sure it is, but I don't want to set myself up for disappointment when you make something else." After a pause: "Are you making Treacle Tart?"

"You'll find out tomorrow," she repeated.

"What about a hint?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

"It starts with a B."

"B?" he repeated, then started muttering to himself. After he quickly exhausted the list of desserts that began with the letter B, he nearly pleaded, "C'mon…give me more than that. Baking isn't much of a strong point for me."

"Just be patient," she told him.

The middle of Godric's Hollow was a small square, in which a church, a post office, a pub, and several other shops gathered. The setting sun cut slices through the church's stained-glass windows that seemed as if they were pained into the cobbles. And the same kissing gate was there, sitting off to the side of the church that served as the entrance to St Jerome's Graveyard…where Harry's parents were buried. She chanced a look at him then, a little surprised that he hadn't given St Jerome's Graveyard any type of acknowledgement whatsoever. However, the cottage – _his_ cottage – provided plenty of pictures of his parents, happy and madly in love with each other. (And she remembered the pictures in the sitting room on the mantle, one of them showing James and Lily snogging each other in the backyard.) Surely he'd want to remember his parents alive and well instead of the alternative, right?

"I need to get some more McVitie's," he said casually. "We're all out of them."

"You finished it off?"

"Don't look at me like that…they're good!"

"And terrible for your health if you keep at them the way you have!" she chastised. "Really, I'm baking something for us tomorrow and you still want McVitie's?"

Laughing, Harry said, "Baking for us, huh?"

She glanced at him and nodded, "Us," confirming the fact that she thought of them as a couple.

For his part, Harry confirmed the fact that he thought of them as a couple by kissing her temple, letting his lips linger. It reminded her of the snog they had had earlier, something that, although surprising, was gladly received by her, and greatly so – because she had enjoyed snogging him (and she hoped that he had enjoyed snogging her).

Okay, so maybe their relationship wasn't much different from that of Ron and Lavender's as Hermione had initially thought, because Harry snogged Hermione (and she snogged Harry) for a long time…a very long time at that. And to say their snog was exciting, passionate, or wonderful wouldn't be enough to accurately describe it, not by a long shot. Sure, it was exciting, passionate, and wonderful, but it was everything else in between as well. Years of pent-up demand had Hermione seeing the furthest of stars that existed within the known Universe when Harry snogged her, so much so that it seemed like she floating in space. Hell, she reasoned that if a Black Hole came and swallowed her whole, she'd go happy knowing that her snog with Harry surpassed any and all expectations, wildly too. And though they didn't take their snog farther than was necessary, she definitely felt his erection when it pressed against her – and she almost fainted when it did.

She wasn't at all embarrassed to say that she wanted more of it – more of his snogging – and nearly admitted as much to Harry. It made her wonder how far he was willing to go, especially since their relationship was in its infancy…new to him, new to her, new to them. But thinking about it, Hermione reckoned they had all the time in the world to address the next stage of their relationship…so why was there any need to hurry it along faster than what they were comfortable with? Voldemort was gone. The Death Eaters were gone. The community was slowly starting to piece itself back together again, Harry and Hermione included. The rest of the weekend (and the rest of the summer) was theirs and theirs only, giving them a long period of time to figure things out. And because of this, Hermione, a stranger to her parents (and her parents a stranger to her), felt at peace. She was with Harry and for now, it was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the interest the story has generated thus far! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well! Any guesses on what Hermione is going to bake? Thanks for reading.


	3. Sunday

**Sunday  
Harry and Hermione Bake. Aunt Petunia Returns. Secrets from the Forest of Dean.**

* * *

Hermione used her wand to grease the square pan she found in one of the cabinets of the kitchen, dividing the pan in two halves and lining it with parchment paper. In one bowl, she mixed together all-purpose flour, almond flour, baking powder, and salt. In another bowl, she put butter and caster sugar together until it was creamy, cracking open three large eggs to go along with it. Thereafter, she gradually added the flour mixture as well as two tablespoons of milk.

"Still not going to tell me what you're baking?" Harry asked from the table. He looked at her like a dog would when begging for a roasted pork ear. ( _I've always wanted a Staffie._ )

"I gave you a hint," she said, distracted.

"Not much of a one," he pointed out. "Although, I kind of settled on a Bakewell Tart." He licked his lips. "Is that it?"

"Have a little patience," she replied. (She inwardly smiled when he groaned loudly.) It wasn't like she was torturing Harry – not in her mind anyway – but she liked to see him restless. The drumming of his fingers atop the table and the bouncing of his leg atop the floor made him more fanciable than was allowed by any law set by the Ministry.

"I guess it isn't Bakewell Tart then," he murmured.

After she separated the batter in two separate bowls, she added almond extract to one and a blend of cocoa powder, milk, and sugar to the other. The almond batter was poured into one half of the pan and the cocoa batter was poured into the other half of the pan. She waved her wand (like Harry did with the Toad in the Hole) and used a variation of the Fire-Making Charm to bake the batter faster and quicker than Muggles would be able to. (What would normally take thirty to thirty-five minutes only took Hermione a minute or so at most.)

"So Banoffee Pie, Bedfordshire Clanger, Black Bun, Bridie, and Butter Pie are all out," Harry said, counting the pies and tarts on his fingers. "It doesn't look like you're making Blancmange, Bombe, or Brandy Snaps either. Bread and Butter Pudding seems a bit far-fetched," he frowned, "which leaves Banbury and Battenberg. Then again, it can't be the former because Banbury Cakes are usually served with afternoon tea-,"

"I never said it couldn't be served with afternoon tea," Hermione inserted as she set the almond and cocoa sponges on a cooling rack. She then warmed apricot jam in a saucepan, ran it through a sieve, and stirred small circles through it.

"Battenberg, then," Harry said. "You're making Battenberg."

"And what happened to the Banbury Cakes?"

"The ingredients you're using say otherwise," and he gestured to the almond and cocoa sponges she grabbed. She carefully trimmed the tops off of them and almost missed Harry stealing the cocoa remnants.

"It's not even noon!" she exclaimed.

"A little piece was all it was," he defended, and a smile was beginning to work its way across his face.

"You're hopeless," she grumbled though didn't really mean it.

"Then we're hopeless together," he said. Standing to his feet, he leaned over the table, the almond and cocoa sponges like paralyzed spectators between them, and kissed her softly. When he pulled away (all too quickly mind you), she was grinning from ear to ear, unable to help herself from doing so. "Want any help?" he asked.

"Only if you don't mind."

"'Course I don't mind," he said, clapping his hands together and rubbing his palms up and down as if he was trying to get warm. "What d'you want me to do?"

"Place the almond sponge on top of the cocoa sponge," she said. "And don't you dare steal anymore!"

Hermione watched him carefully follow her instructions and when he was finished, she trimmed both sponges to equal sizes, fully aware of the fact that Harry was just behind her, looking over her shoulder to see what she was doing. He was standing so close to her that she could hear him breathing (and was a little annoyed that his breathing seemed to be as normal as one's breathing should be, compared to hers which was erratic and mercurial to say the very least).

After she cut the sponges lengthways into four rectangles, she pointed at the apricot jam still in the saucepan, "Get that, will you?" He did and she said, "Brush the apricot jam on one side of the almond sponge here," and placed one of the almond sponges in front of him, "and do the same thing to the cocoa sponge here," and placed one of the cocoa sponges in front of him. She pushed the two sponges together when he was done and brushed the tops of the sponges with more apricot jam. She repeated this with the last two sponges (this time spreading apricot jam on the bottom of the two sponges as well) and placed them on top of the other two sponges in a checkerboard pattern.

"You want me to cover the rest of this with apricot jam?" Harry asked.

"Made Battenberg before, have you?"

"No," he shook his head, "but you've a lot of apricot jam left over," and pointed a finger at it.

Smiling, she said, "Go for it," and turned to make the marzipan: she ground almond flour, cocoa powder, and powdered sugar in a Muggle food processor (of which Hermione controlled by magic). After putting in some almond extract, she stole four tablespoons of apricot jam from Harry and began to grind the ingredients together even further. When she completed this task, she grabbed a bit of the marzipan and kneaded some of it into the shape of an irregular block.

"Can you help me with this?" she asked, sandwiching the (irregular) block of marzipan between two sheets of parchment paper.

"Roll it out?" he guessed.

She nodded, handing him a rolling pin.

Bunching up the sleeves of his navy flannel to the elbows, he took the rolling pin from her and got to work on the marzipan itself.

Hermione watched him as he did this, smiling at his messy hair and the lightning bolt-shaped scar that zigzagged down his forehead. His eyebrows were pulled together like magnets, concentrating on the task at hand, while his tongue was on his lips, similar to how one would look when trying to work out a labyrinthine problem at hand. However, her smile faltered (and turned into a sort of panting like a dog would on a hot summer day) when she saw his broad shoulders…not to mention his biceps that moved under his shirt while he rolled and rolled and rolled – even though she had never taken a liking to Quidditch, she was thrilled that Harry did with how his body had matured since playing, filling out a lot better than she would've ever expected of him. To be honest, she never prioritized one's looks because it was shallow to do so. Sure, everyone saw with his or her own eyes first, but that didn't mean that looks were all that counted when it came to relationships. Yet Harry got a good luck of the draw, a really good luck of the draw at that.

"That's enough," she told him and cut the marzipan into a large rectangle, placing the checkered sponges into the middle of it. Then, very delicately, she wrapped the sponges in marzipan, axing the ends with a knife. To finish, she flipped the cake over and scored the top of it with small diamond inscriptions.

"Seems okay, doesn't it?" she asked, inspecting the Battenberg from every angle that was possible to her.

"Okay?" Harry repeated, incredulous. "It looks delicious!" He waved his wand and two forks flew out of the cupboard. "Let's have at it!"

"Well, it really should be cooled-,"

"And Cooling Charms are hard for you?" and he moved his wand down the Battenberg like one would move a hand held metal detector down a suspicious person at the airport (the one closest to them was Cardiff). He then cut a slice for her and another for himself, taking to it hungrily. "I know it isn't noon yet, but this is amazing!"

"Better than Treacle Tart?" she asked, having a small bite herself.

Harry thought about this for a while, ravaging his piece of Battenberg in the process. "It's about the same," and cut a second helping to eat. (It was gone in a couple of seconds at most.)

"You're going to spoil your lunch," Hermione said.

"Maybe we'll do a late lunch and early dinner sort of thing," he shrugged. "What d'you say?"

"I assume you'll be doing the cooking?"

"Knackered from the Battenberg, are you?"

"Am not!" she replied lightly.

"So you'll help me?"

"Of course," she responded. Then: "Did you need help before?" On Friday, they had a Toad in the Hole for dinner. On Saturday, they had Fish and Chips with malt vinegar for lunch, a Scotch Egg with ketchup and fried pickles for dinner, and a Sticky Toffee Pudding with Ribena for dessert. Yet, in all of that, Hermione hadn't thought to offer her help once – and she felt horrible because of it.

"I didn't really need it," Harry said. "It's more of the fact that I wanted it."

"Wanted it?" she repeated, a little distressed. "I didn't know," and she put a hand on his arm.

"You're not feeling bad about it, are you?"

"It's hard not to," she replied.

Harry smiled, pulling her into a hug. "I'm not mad or anything," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I just like spending time with you."

Hermione (relishing the scent Harry's shirt carried) said, "You've changed."

"Changed?"

"I always got the feeling that you preferred Ron's company to mine."

"At times I did," he said. "Even then, you were there for me more than he was…a lot more. I guess I never told you how much that meant to me."

"Being with you right now is more than enough," she said.

"Is it?"

Pulling away from him, she nodded, "I like what we have going between us."

"Dating and all?"

"Technically, we haven't been on a date-,"

"Yet," he inserted.

She paused. "Are you planning on one?"

"I have a few ideas," and he seesawed his head to the left and right. "Tonight, maybe?"

"You want to go out?"

"For a first date, I'm definitely cooking for you."

"And what about wanting my help?"

"We'll put that on hold for tomorrow," he replied.

"You know, this is a bad habit you're falling into…procrastinating like you did at Hogwarts."

"Procrastinating," he scoffed. "I'm doing nothing of the sort."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione asked, "If I may, what do you plan on making?"

Throwing her own words back at her, he grinned, "Just be patient."

* * *

From the kitchen window, Hermione watched Harry in the backyard, lost somewhere in the unkempt and wild underbrush he had initially overlooked, and thus had yet to take care of, when he first moved into the cottage. ( _I honestly forgot about the back,_ he told her.) He believed there was a pond there, claimed by a bit of nature who had long overstayed its welcome, and was all but determined to find it. ( _It'd be nice to have something like that to sit by at night,_ he also told her.) And she agreed with him: having a pond to go along with the cottage was a secret of theirs and theirs only – something that no one else would be part of since it was only Harry and Hermione who lived there in the first place.

Just as she was beginning to imagine if the pond (that is, if such a pond existed) was apt to go swimming in – here, she remembered Harry's broad shoulders and biceps that moved under his shirt as he rolled and rolled and rolled the marzipan – she heard a knock on the front door.

Curious, she went to it and saw a woman there, one who had a face that closely resembled a horse and a neck like that of a giraffe's. ( _An escapee from Chester Zoo perhaps,_ Hermione thought.) The blonde hair atop her head was flimsy and thin…her eyes were large and pale…and her jaw was lantern-like and very square. A string of pearls collared her neck, autumn leaves cluttered her blouse, her handbag hung from her arm like a sloth, and her skirt arrived somewhere below her knees.

"Is Harry here…Harry Potter?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, a little amazed that the horse-giraffe-hybrid-of-a-woman could actually speak, "but you have me at a disadvantage. Who are you?"

"Petunia Dursley," she answered shortly.

A pause hung between them like an intermission of a long movie, movies that Muggles used to watch before their attention spans shrunk considerably. To be honest, Hermione was stunned, very much so, that one of Harry's relatives decided to pay him a visit. She doubted Harry expected as much because Merlin knew she didn't expect anything of the sort.

"One moment," was all she could think of to say and quickly took to the back of the cottage. There, she threw open the door and beckoned Harry with her hand.

Sprinting towards her, worry on his face, he asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Your Aunt is here," she told him, grabbing his arm as if she was about to blackout – never mind Harry blacking out. (And if they both happened to blackout, then it was likely Petunia Dursley would be waiting for a long while until they came to.) "She asked for you."

"Really…you're serious?"

"Of course I am," she said rather shrilly. Clearly, the stress of the whole situation, one that turned on a sixpence, was seizing her like Old Toad Face seized Marietta Edgecombe in Dumbledore's Office when asking her about the D.A. in fifth year. ( _SNEAK._ )

Harry grabbed her hand and led her back inside, stopping short upon seeing his Aunt waiting patiently on the doorstep. Hermione reckoned that they hadn't seen each other in ten months or so and wondered if either one noticed a change in the other – because Harry himself had changed and she supposed doing away with Voldemort and the Death Eaters was the reason why.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry said.

"Harry," she returned with a cordial nod, one that was void of a smile (though it wasn't like Hermione had expected one to show up anyway).

"What're you doing here?" he asked.

"There are things I would like to discuss with you," she answered. "If you'd rather that I leave, I'll understand."

"Come in," he said. And after she took an abnormally long time to take the couple of steps needed to enter the cottage: "I'm just surprised to see you is all. I didn't expect anything outside of Little Whinging."

"A visit wasn't what I'd anticipated, but I wanted a chance to clear the air between us."

Harry only nodded and gestured towards the sitting area. For her part, Hermione spelled the door closed with her wand and made to go upstairs to give Harry some privacy. However, he stopped her when he didn't let go of her hand.

"Stay with me," he said, nearly begging.

"Are you sure?"

"Please," he continued.

"Okay," and they went into the sitting area, taking the opposite couch from Petunia, who put her handbag on the floor and smoothed her skirt out afterwards, the coffee table separating them like the Channel.

Turning her attention to Hermione, Petunia asked, "You are?"

"Hermione Granger," she said.

"An acquaintance?"

"No," Harry said a little forcefully, "she's my girlfriend."

"And are you…one of them?" Petunia asked quietly.

"She's a witch," Harry replied for her.

The only acknowledgement Petunia gave with this admission was a face like that of a stone gargoyle: ashen, still, and unsightly – or in other words, she gave no acknowledgement at all.

"How'd you know I was at Godric's Hollow?" Harry asked.

"That Headmaster of yours…Dumbledore," and she shuddered a little, "he told me in the letter he left with you the night Lily died. I asked to make the funeral arrangements for her to be buried in the graveyard next to the church. St Jerome's, is it?"

"What about the cottage? Was it by accident that you knew it belonged to my parents?"

"Those _people_ we were with…Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones…they told me."

"And you decided to come for a visit?"

"I came by everyday this week," she said, "only to drive away when I couldn't get enough courage about myself to face you after so much has happened. But I had to come…to tell you things I've wanted to for so long now."

An uncomfortable silence settled over them then, and Hermione, a little nervous about the forthcoming conversation, asked, "Would you like some tea?"

"English Breakfast would be lovely," Petunia said, seeming to be relieved for a reason to look elsewhere than at Harry, who, Hermione knew, was barley containing a lid on the animosity he had for the Dursleys, including that of his Aunt.

Giving his hand a squeeze, one that was meant to be reassuring, she stood up and went to the kitchen. There, she grabbed a kettle and brought the water in it to a boil with a wave of her wand. Next, she put several teabags in a teapot and filled it with the boiling water, meaning to let it brew for three minutes or so.

As she waited, Hermione remembered Harry telling her how life was like with the Dursleys: the fact that the Dursleys lied to Harry about how his parents had died (and forbade any questions about his parents), the emotional and verbal abuse he received, the infliction of cruel punishments on him like refusing him meals, and of course, playing Dudley's favorite game: _Harry Hunting_ – of which he always did with his gang. And she couldn't forget the cupboard under the stairs, the bars on his bedroom window, Marge Dursley swelling like a hot-air balloon, the Ton-Tongue Toffee fiasco with Dudley, the Dementor Attack of which Harry had been blamed for, and the insensitive comments made by his Uncle – _His Godfather's dead?_ and _He's been left a house_? (of which was said greedily) – upon learning of Sirius Black's death. It was a lot for Harry to endure and she couldn't blame him for wanting to keep his hands clean of the Dursleys. ( _It's like water under a bridge with them…It'd be enough to know that they're safe._ )

Shaking her head a little, she poured three teacups, added some milk in each one, and finished with a handful of Rich Tea Biscuits. She took out the tray like Muggles would, or else Petunia might be scared silly if she did so with magic, and set it on the coffee table. Harry then grabbed her hand again and pulled her down next to him.

"Before I left Privet Drive, I wanted to tell you something that I never got the chance to," Petunia started, grabbing a teacup and taking a sip.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Despite my hatred for anything and everything that had to do with you and your _world_ , I did know of some things. Before you left, I wanted to wish you some luck in whatever you were setting out to do. It's just that…I couldn't find it in myself to do so. Call me a coward – you have every right to – but that's how it is sometimes…a coward leading a cowardly life." When her eyes found Harry and Hermione's interlaced hands, she said, "But I guess you didn't really need it."

"Not everyone survived the War," Harry replied. "There were those that I was close to who didn't make it."

_Losing Fred has been hard on all of them and I wouldn't expect anything less.  
_  
"I know how you feel," Petunia responded.

"How?"

"Don't forget that the same night you lost your mother, I lost my sister," she said. "We may not have been on the best of terms, but she was still family. And as much as I tried to separate myself from her, there were many days and many nights where I thought of her…only of her."

Harry was quiet for a minute, reaching for the teacup closest to him, then thought better of it.

"Uncle Vernon…how's he? And Dudley?"

"Both are fine," Petunia said.

Hermione thought that she was rather abrupt with her answer and apparently, Harry thought so too for he said, "Uncle Vernon doesn't know you're here, does he?"

"No, he doesn't," and she shook her head, taking another sip of her English Breakfast.

"Why is it that you guys never got along with my parents?" Harry asked. "I mean, you rarely mentioned them at all, and when you did, it was only in passing."

Petunia considered this and said, "Well, it was many different things…things that happened with Lily when we were young. She was able to perform certain abnormalities – like turning teacups into rats – almost as if it was perfectly normal to do so. My parents were enthralled with the idea that Lily was able to do such abnormalities when others, like myself, couldn't. At one point, I was even torn between curiosity and disapproval. However, our relationship deteriorated because of it, and deteriorated even more when she met that _awful boy_ ," and she shuddered again.

"Snape, you mean," Harry inserted.

Hermione gasped at this bit of news, not knowing that there was some connection (or disconnection) between Petunia and Lily…and Snape – an unusual trinity of people if she ever knew one.

"They became close with each other," Petunia continued, "Lily and that _awful boy_." Then, with a kind of faraway look in her eyes, she said, "I spent so many years trying to forget about him…bedraggled as he was from Spinner's End." She sighed. "The moment we met, there was a mutual dislike we had of each other – a feeling that only grew the more time Lily spent with him. And it was soon after that Lily got her letter from…that school of yours."

"Hogwarts," Hermione supplied.

"A woman came by to drop it off," Petunia went on as if she hadn't heard Hermione, "and did some funny tricks meanwhile."

"Like turning herself into a cat?" Hermione asked.

Petunia looked over at Hermione, her eyes wide like teacup saucers, and said, "You've seen it too?"

"I'm very much like your sister," Hermione replied, smiling at Harry as she did (for what it was worth, he smiled back at her). "My parents…they aren't able to do magic either. Professor McGonagall dropped off my Hogwarts letter, and to prove that magic was real, something my parents were skeptical of, she transfigured herself into a cat – her Animagus form."

"You mean that you didn't have parents that were _different,_ " she whispered, and her eyes darted to the left and right to see if she expected a train – the Hogwarts Express maybe – to come rattling down the tracks and crush her for speaking complete and utter blasphemy.

"Not at all," Hermione said, remembering that she now referred to her parents as _strangers._

Petunia sniffed, "Well, as you can probably guess, I was jealous of Lily, so much that I wrote a letter to that Headmaster of yours…Dumbledore…asking him if I too could study _you-know-what_ ," she said so softly that Hermione thought it was entirely possible she hadn't said _you-know-what_ at all (Hermione assumed she meant _magic_ ). "As it is, he denied be request, kindly, mind you, and that was that. After Lily went to Hogwarts with that _awful boy_ , I rarely spoke with her, burning every letter she thought to send me. My parents knew something had changed between us and did their best to repair the damage-,"

"Though nothing worked," Harry inserted.

"When I met Vernon, I was very hesitant to tell him about Lily and her abnormalities because I was fond of him, very fond, and didn't want to drive him away. Heavens, he despised those who wore black suits with brown shoes - so how was I supposed to tell him of Lily and her abnormalities? Nonetheless, I did tell him eventually – when we stopped for a snack of battered sausage at a chip shop – and he said that he wouldn't judge me any differently for _the_ _faults of my family_. Bless him for that."

Hermione had the opinion that this was rather rude of him… _the faults of her family_ …and felt herself frown.

Harry, on the other hand, asked, "What did Uncle Vernon think of my parents when they first met?"

"It was nothing kind…not at all," Petunia said, and though Hermione might've imagined it, she thought Petunia looked a little sad. "The first time we met was at a restaurant…The Only Running Footman I think it was called, somewhere in the City of Westminster…and Vernon was telling James about a new car of his, the 1977 Ford Cortina. James, however, wasn't all that impressed by this and instead told Vernon about some sort of broomstick. Naturally, Vernon believed James was some sort of weirdo who collected too much unemployment benefits, and we left. On the way home, Vernon was beside himself when James had insisted that he had a fortune in solid gold. _Unemployment is what he means_ , Vernon had said."

Petunia stopped here, deciding her English Breakfast was much needed. She eyed the Rich Tea Biscuits but decided to hold off on them…for now at least.

"The second time we met was at our wedding. I remember seeing James take over to us during the Reception, probably urged by Lily to apologize for his behavior at The Only Running Footman. Vernon…well, he said very loudly to those nearby that _magicians belonged in a circus_ , and referred to James and Lily as _amateur magicians._ Lily was so upset."

"How about at my parents' wedding? Did you guys go?" Harry asked.

"We didn't as Vernon couldn't fathom being anywhere near James. And even though I missed Lily, I also didn't want to upset Vernon any further – a coward leading a cowardly life," she repeated with a rather pathetic laugh. "But it was soon after that our mother was stricken with cancer. Lily and I disagreed on which was the better option: to follow the doctor's orders or for our mother to seek alternative treatments with _her lot._ Lily was adamant that our mother would be better taken care of with _you-know-what._ We bickered for a long time…too long because our mother died with us bickering at her bedside."

Hermione saw that Petunia's eyes had begun to water, making her large, pale eyes become glossy like candlelight behind a stained-glass window. Because even though Harry told her the horror stories of how life was like with the Dursleys, she couldn't help but feel bad for Petunia…someone who managed to suck up her pride, one she carried around with her for years, to make amends with Harry and to make amends with herself. It was admirable in its own way.

"After our mother passed, I refused to speak to Lily at all, blaming her for our mother's death. In that time, I received multiple letters from her, apologizing and wishing to meet, but I binned every one of them." Accompanying another sip of tea was: "The very last bit of post from Lily was announcing your birth and a picture to go along with it. Soon though," and she looked at Harry with her still-glossy eyes, "well, you don't need me to tell you what happened then."

Harry, his hand still with Hermione's, asked, "So why are you telling me all of this now?"

"Because I regret everything that happened with Lily and I regret everything that happened with you. It may not seem like it, but I loved Lily…I loved her dearly. She was my younger sister – thus, I had to look after her, to keep her safe from harm. And everything changed with that _awful boy_ , calling me names I didn't understand. When Lily left to go that school of yours, I felt a separation with her in that I belonged in one world and she belonged in another…we were worlds apart from each other and I was the one who felt left behind by my sister. And even though I envied her abnormalities at one point or another, I had to accept the fact that I was never going to share in those abnormalities. Then along came Vernon who encouraged the worst aspects of my character – bitter, judgmental, and even a little petty at times – to anyone and anything that was unlike ourselves. _  
_  
"When I heard that Lily had been murdered, I was devastated, but I hid my devastation under the weight of this unresolved jealousy I had of her. Still, the sting of her death was always there, unwelcome when it came to me at night when I tried to sleep…knowing that she was never going to wake up." (Hermione noticed that the glossiness in her eyes had gained considerable weight.) "I'm not telling you this to ask for your forgiveness because I'm long past that. But all of these years I've never been able to talk about Lily to anybody, especially Vernon, even though I wanted to. If I could, I'd go back in time and change everything. It's more than unfortunate that I'm unable to and that's something I'll have to live with for the rest of my life." She picked up her handbag and reached into it, taking out a bright green blanket. "This is what you were wrapped in when you arrived on our doorstep," she said. "It's something that belongs to you," and handed it over to him, minding the English Breakfast just underneath it. "The color," she continued, "is meant to resemble Lily's eyes – she mentioned to me long ago that James loved them – eyes that you inherited. I only kept it this long because it was the last connection I had with my sister."

Words were something of an unknown to Harry then, who studied the blanket as if it was some kind of antique, part of a past that he'd left behind in order to be able to move forward on his own accord, minus the baggage he had to shoulder for so long. Like Petunia, Hermione figured that the blanket - _Harry's_ blanket - was a connection he had with his parents, and from the look in his eyes, that connection was felt instantly.

Managing a smile, Petunia said, "Well, I'd best be off," and stood to her feet.

Harry carefully set down the blanket and replied, "Thank you…thank you for coming over. I never believed you would."

"Losing your parents when you were a baby…I can't imagine how that was for you. And after, you had a terrible childhood, something I'm to blame for. Lily deserved better…you deserved better, far more that what I gave to you. For that, I apologize. I can't speak for Vernon, but I'm sorry for the way I treated you. You deserve to be happy," and she looked at Hermione when she said, "I'm sure you will be."

Harry and Hermione got to their feet and walked Petunia to the front door.

"Farewell," was what she said to them.

Hermione watched her take down the path that careened its way through the waist-high grass, wiping at her eyes as she did. She got in her car and waved as she drove away. Harry, having pulled Hermione against his chest, waved back.

And that was the last time Harry and Hermione saw Petunia Dursley again.

* * *

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked him.

Harry was staring up at the sky, the stars above them like a chaotic jewelry jubilee, his eyes distant.

"Just thinking," was what he said.

"About your Aunt?" she pressed. She recalled how Harry spent the rest of the day in the backyard (of which he'd done a bang-up job of clearing) once his Aunt had left, only coming inside to cook their dinner: a Sunday Roast, complete with maple-mustard pulled pork, parmesan-roasted potatoes, broccoli and carrots – topped with a honey glaze – Yorkshire Puds, and, of course, a fair bit of gravy to go along with the Sunday Roast itself. It had been delectable (similar to how she found Harry delectable as she watched him move around the kitchen), more so than the Toad in the Hole on Friday and the Scotch Egg on Saturday.

"No," he shook his head.

"You were quiet throughout dinner," she said, and it was true…he had been quiet, eerily quiet at that.

Sighing, he said, "Remember how you told me yesterday that you were keeping something from me…and that it was time I found out about it?"

Before then, Hermione could do nothing but stare at the arrangement Harry had setup for them in the backyard: the pond (oh yes, Harry had found the pond alright) mirrored the paper lanterns – of which were red and round – that lingered just atop it, while glow-worms crowded the paper lanterns themselves. The result was a red and green blaze, like one would see at Christmas. Now, however, she turned to look at him, puzzled.

"I dunno if Ron ever mentioned it, but it was the Forest of Dean…with Slytherin's Locket," he started.

"He mentioned it," Hermione said, "though he never got very far."

"What happened?"

"He'd get angry and stomp away," she shrugged.

"I never told you about that night," Harry said, his eyes on her. "I wanted to…only I'm sure Ron wouldn't have appreciated it any."

"Is it bad?"

"Not to me," he replied.

She waited, a little eagerly at that, because she had known something went wrong with Slytherin's Locket – Ron's actions spoke for themselves. In the time she stayed with him at the Burrow (directly after the War), he meant to bring it up many times. Yet there was a problem – a big problem – and it was what she'd said to Harry: _he never got very far…he'd get angry and stomp away._ And that's what Ron did every time. Thus, she concluded that Slytherin's Locket had dealt him something dirty and it greatly affected him more than he cared to admit.

"Snape's Patronus led me to a pond, probably a little bigger than this one," and he nodded his head to their private pond before them, still echoing with the glow worms infestation of the paper lanterns ( _Christmas in May!_ ), "somewhere in the Forest of Dean. The Sword of Gryffindor was there and after a struggle, Ron managed to get me out."

Harry moved closer to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him, and kissing her temple. She briefly smiled at this, liking the way his lips felt on her body. But her smile quickly waned as she wondered if his actions were more for her sake or his.

"Since he was the one who recovered the Sword, I decided that he should be the one to get rid of Slytherin's Locket. He didn't want to, but I pushed it on him anyway. After I spoke in Parseltongue causing the thing to open, there were eyes…Tom Riddle's eyes…and it saw the both of us," he paused. "It also saw-,"

"The Sword of Gryffindor," Hermione said for him.

He nodded and kissed her temple again, letting his lips dawdle as if they liked her temple very much.

"Those eyes…they panicked…I could see that they did, and before Ron could stab Slytherin's Locket, a voice hissed at him – talking about his dreams and fears…his desires and dread. It claimed that he was least loved by his mum…least loved by you."

Hermione's breath hitched in her throat at the _least loved by you_ bit because it was true: Hermione's feelings for Harry were far stronger than her feelings for Ron. ( _I get it, you choose him._ ) She supposed that Slytherin's Locket studied them whenever they wore it ( _How ridiculous we were to do that!_ she thought to herself), discovering their own personal wants and wishes. As for Hermione, she wanted Harry and wished for him to be happy.

"Soon after, we came out of Slytherin's Locket-,"

"We?" she asked.

"Versions of ourselves," he explained. "Only our hair was like flames, our eyes were red, and our voices were…well, like Voldemort's," and he kissed her temple ( _X marks the spot_ , she guessed). "They – we – taunted him, playing to his insecurities and to his jealousy. Then…we kissed."

"Just like that?"

"It was meant for Ron's sake more than anything else," Harry said. "But it's what got him to finally get rid of the damned thing."

Hermione, playing with one of the buttons on his flannel, said, "And that's what you were keeping from me?" Before he could reply, she continued, "I thought it'd be something else."

"Hang on a second, I'm not finished," Harry told her. "It's what I said to Ron afterwards that's bothering me. You see, he was beside himself with everything that'd happened…everything he'd seen. And I saw how defeated he looked – like he'd lost before he'd even begun. I went to him to make sure he knew that I loved you like a sister, reckoning you felt the same way about me. But not only did I lie to him, I felt like I was lying to you too. Because it was when we were on the run together that I stopped seeing Ginny's dot on the Marauder's Map and saw yours instead, remember?"

"Of course I remember," Hermione nodded. "You only told me yesterday."

"I just need to make sure you know that I don't love you like a sister. Merlin, I don't even have a sister so how could I possibly understand what loving one is even like!" He turned to her and said, "I'm sorry."

"You haven't anything to apologize for!" she replied, vehement.

"But I lied," he said. "I told Ron that I loved you like a sister when I didn't…and I still don't." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "I never will. You mean more to me than that."

Hermione, calling to her spontaneous side, said, "Then how about you show me."

"Show you what?"

"How much I mean to you."

Harry's brow curved like a bridge over a strong current. "I don't follow."

Taking a leap of faith, one she hoped was going to be repaid in kind, she released herself from his arm, of which was still wrapped around her shoulders, and straddled him. She saw that he was mesmerized when she slowly removed her blouse, letting it parachute off to the side, forgotten. Next, she reached out and undid the buttons of his flannel. When it slipped off behind him, she moved her hands over his chest (also noticing his biceps – the same biceps he used as he rolled and rolled and rolled the marzipan). Suddenly, he flipped her over and she let out a surprise laugh when he did.

"Is this your first time?" he asked as he coffined her body under his.

"Yes," she said, her voice dim and distant as she felt his erection trying to push its way through his jeans.

"Mine too," he smiled and kissed her.

Were they rushing into the next phase of their relationship even though the first phase of their relationship hadn't really begun? Hermione didn't think so. For Merlin's sake, they'd known each other for years now and had been best friends for the same amount of time! If they wanted to make love in the backyard of his cottage in Godric's Hollow, then why shouldn't they be allowed to? Harry and Hermione were consenting adults, aged more than their numbers made them out to be from everything that they went through. They were happy together, far more than they had been in the past. It was a different life they led before the War, and it was a different life they meant to lead after it.

With Harry drinking from her, his tongue wild in her mouth, Hermione needed him inside her. And it was like he read her mind...because he undid the button of his jeans, yanked down the zipper, and soon after, like lovers, they claimed each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading.


	4. Monday

**Monday  
Epilogue – Gingerbread Houses and Kisses. Sean. Silencing Charms.**

* * *

"Are you happy you sat your N.E.W.T.s?" Hermione asked.

"I don't regret it, if that's what you mean," Harry replied.

They were in the sitting area of the cottage, watching the snow fall outside the window as a small mountain range of it had already formed on the sill. They each had a glassful of mint hot chocolate, something Harry had thought to make them, while a throw was over their legs. Because even though there was a fire in the fireplace, the winter weather came over them as strong as it had ever done before. It was cold, so much so that Hermione found herself snuggling into Harry's arms whenever the opportunity presented itself. He didn't seem to mind and she loved him for it.

"But we didn't need them," she said. "It was almost as if it was all for nothing."

"Not to me," Harry remarked. "Even though I didn't know it at the time, going back to Hogwarts to sit our N.E.W.T.s offered a bit of closure with everything that happened. Besides," he went on, "it was the most normal year I ever had."

"Boring?" Hermione asked for clarification.

"With you?" and he scoffed, smiling. "Never."

"I'm actually surprised so many came back," she said. "I mean, you changed your mind more than I thought you would-,"

"And at one time, you thought about skipping N.E.W.T.s altogether," Harry interrupted.

"I was more worried than anything," she reasoned (or tried to, at least).

"Ron and Ginny?" he guessed.

She only nodded.

When Harry and Hermione got together, they thought it'd be best to let their friends know about their relationship. After all, they'd be cowards if they didn't. ( _A coward leading a cowardly life,_ Petunia had said.) In a weird twist of events, Ron had been happy for them, a sentiment that threw Harry and Hermione through a Muggle rollercoaster full of loops, twists, and whirls. He reasoned that after giving it some thought, Hermione was more of a friend to him than a lover. Ginny, on the other hand, hadn't reacted well to the news at all. Though she was quiet with their announcement, she fled the Burrow directly after, and didn't return for several days.

"I can't imagine how it was with Quidditch," Hermione said.

"You were worried about Gryffindor's chances of winning the Quidditch Cup?"

"Surprised?"

"Well…yes," he spluttered, his eyes wide. "The last time you showed any interest in Quidditch was…," and he trailed off, thinking. "Have you ever showed any interest in Quidditch?"

"To be honest, I've never been much of fan," she commented, sipping her mint hot chocolate.

"And now?" he pressed.

"Kind of the same," she shrugged, "only I have a better understanding of why you like it so much."

"What brought that on?"

"Your kiss," she said.

After Gryffindor beat Hufflepuff for the Quidditch Cup, Harry, having caught the Snitch, flew over to the stands, located Hermione, and snogged her in front of the whole school. Dennis Creevey, having taking up the mantle of his late brother, Colin, snapped so many pictures of them that it seemed like lightning was flashing around the pitch. (Many of those pictures from that day now hung on Harry and Hermione's bedroom wall upstairs, forming a collage of the Snitch itself.)

"There were rumors going around that Gryffindor would be last in the running due to you and Ginny not being able to work together and that that would cost us a chance at winning the Quidditch Cup," Hermione said. "Of course, it didn't turn out that way but still."

"You know, I was relieved when Ron was supportive of us dating and all, and even more relieved when Quidditch started back up again. Because there were several times after practice when it looked as if Ginny meant to corner me-,"

"Corner you?"

"To tempt me," he explained quickly. "But Ron never let that happen. It was almost as if he was there just to keep her away…not that her temptations would've worked anyway."

"I would hope not," Hermione grumbled, more than annoyed that anyone, let alone Ginny, would try and tempt Harry when he was already in a relationship.

Laughing, Harry leaned over and kissed her, slipping his tongue into her mouth shortly afterwards. He tasted sweet, like the mint hot chocolate he had nearly finished, and Hermione, unable to help herself, simply melted against him. He guided her hand onto his erection, one that was tenting his grey joggers quite massively, and when she opened her eyes, she saw his toes curl under the white socks he was wearing – a trait, she had since learned, that meant Harry was ready to couple.

"We can't!" she insisted, though made no move to take her hand off of his erection. ( _Merlin is it hard,_ she thought to herself, nearly salivating because of it.) She then began to stroke it, making Harry groan – and he used his bedroom voice when he did.

However, he soon stopped her hand with his and said, "I'm going to cum if you keep up with it."

Confused, Hermione asked, "You don't want to?"

"I promise you I won't be quiet about it," he replied. "And you can add to that the usual expletives I tend to let loose when we hit it raw." Following a pause, he suggested, "Silencing Charms?"

"Sean's only in the kitchen," she said, and this time, took her hand away.

Harry watched his erection deflate with a frown.

"I'll make it up to you," she promised.

"Tonight?"

"We'll see," and kissed him.

They took to the kitchen and Hermione smiled when she saw that Sean was passed out at the table (one that Harry had since expanded to fit three people instead of two), using a debris of crayons as his pillow. She noticed that next to him was a drawing of the gingerbread houses each of them had made earlier and he was doing a very good job with it. (The gingerbread houses themselves were in a row atop the table, kind of like its own private village: a house for Harry, a house for Hermione, and a house for Sean.) Sure, she knew that Sean was a child prodigy in what he could do with a couple of crayons, but it still surprised her every time she saw a creation of his on a bit of parchment she'd thought to spare.

"Looks like this one's long ready for bed," Harry said, scooping Sean into his arms. He then fondly kissed him on the forehead. "Care to help me?" he asked Hermione.

"Definitely," and Hermione accepted the kiss Harry gave to her. (A kiss for Hermione, a kiss for Sean…a kiss for Sean, a kiss for Hermione – there was plenty of kisses from Harry to go around.)

Passing through the sitting area, Hermione smothered the fire in the fireplace with a wave of her wand, minding the large Christmas tree in the corner that Harry and Sean had brought home several days ago and decorated, complete with balls, ornaments, and a shower of tinsel (not to mention the large pile of presents under it waiting to be opened).

As they went up the stairs, Hermione remembered when Sean came into the picture…their picture…and it all started with a question Harry had asked Hermione: Are you happy?

* * *

_"Why?" she asked him, curious._

_"You don't seem to be," he shrugged._

_"It's the hours," she replied, tired._

_"I think you're logging more than me these days," Harry said. "Didn't know the Beast Division required so much of your time."_

_"The Department's busy," she said, referring to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. "Charlie's doing his best to make sure the opening for the Northumberland Dragon Sanctuary goes as smooth as possible."_

_"It'll be fine," and Harry led Hermione into the kitchen where a Cornish Hen was waiting for them. "He has you to back him up, doesn't he?"_

_"Maybe," she said, picking up her fork and knife, "but that only means there's more pressure on me."_

_"Want to trade?" Harry asked._

_She looked at him and said, "And what's wrong with the Auror Office? Last I heard, Azkaban was full to the brim these days."_

_"It's gotten a little boring," he answered, cutting along the backbone of the Cornish Hen, finding the ridge, and nestling his knife downward so that he pushed the entire breast right off. "I remember telling McGonagall that I was interested in becoming an Auror-,"_

_"Career Advice in fifth year," Hermione inserted._

_He nodded, "Now though…I don't like it as much. I guess it wasn't able to live up to the high expectations I had of it in the first place, and it doesn't matter if those high expectations were unreasonable or not."_

_"So what're you going to do?" she asked next. "I mean, you shouldn't continue on with the Auror Office if you don't want to."_

_"Well," Harry started, looking a little embarrassed with himself as he rubbed the back of his neck, "there is a little something I have up my sleeve." Here, he paused to take a long drink of his Firewhisky, seeming as if he was trying to drum up the courage to explain what his_ little something _entailed. "You know how there's been talk to restore Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour in Diagon Alley?"_

_Hermione did as she remembered that Harry's sixteenth birthday at the Burrow was spoiled by talk of disappearances (of which greatly irritated Mrs Weasley), including that of Florean Fortescue. (_ He used to give me free ice creams. What happened to him? _Harry asked._ Dragged off, by the look of the place, _was Bill's reply.)_

_"I'm thinking of doing it myself," Harry said._

_"Restore Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour?" and she felt her brows pull together across her head._

_She saw him frown as he said, "Doesn't tickle your fancy, does it?"_

_"Well," Hermione said, stalling. "It's just that…I've never pegged you for serving ice cream."_

_"It won't really be ice cream," he told her. "Instead, I'm thinking of a kind of bakery."_

_"Bakery?" she repeated._

_"Don't look at me like that! You said so yourself that I've gotten better at it!"_

_"You have," Hermione agreed, "but running a bakery of all things?"_

_"Forget it," he mumbled, taking to his plate and using his fork to skate around the remaining sweet potatoes there._

_It was a horrible thing to see Harry look so defeated about opening a bakery in Diagon Alley. And even though she hadn't totally shot down the idea of it, she felt crummy nonetheless…very crummy at that. Truthfully, the very last thing she expected of him was to propose leaving the Ministry of Magic to find work in Diagon Alley – at a bakery too! Yet should she really be all that surprised by it? For months, Hermione had felt that Harry wasn't satisfied with his work in the Auror Office because the prospect of being an Auror often clashed with the realities that came with the job itself. And yes, Harry was fully capable of handling such clashes, though that didn't mean he liked to do so on a daily basis. Thus, she figured his question to her_ (Are you happy?) _was actually a question for himself. And over the course of their meal, he decided that he wasn't._

_Meanwhile, he believed that opening a bakery in Diagon Alley was something that could make him happy. And hell, who was she to stand in the way of Harry and his happiness? After all, that was her biggest wish: for Harry to be happy. Unfortunately, her own skepticism on the matter of a bakery had killed all the happiness he had had before then – she saw it leave his eyes just like the darkness left a flaming candle. She bristled at herself for being so stupid! If Harry wanted to leave the Auror Office to run a bakery, then she'd fully support him in that venture. And just as she was about to tell Harry this, the spontaneous side of her stopped the words from coming out of her mouth. (_ No, _the spontaneous side of her said,_ he deserves more than meaningless words, doesn't he?) _Oh, yes, he does._

_Later that night, Harry's mood hadn't improved in the slightest. But it was no matter…she had the perfect remedy. In bed, he was flipping through the latest edition of the_ Quidditch Times, _the sheets bunched around his middle so that his belly button was barely visible (he had one of those swirly belly buttons that looked like a spiral galaxy). She made her way into the bedroom wearing a satin camisole (the color matching that of Harry's eyes) and carrying, of all things, a jam jar._

_"What's with that?" he asked her, nodding towards the jam jar itself._

_"I was making a Vicky Sponge but thought to apologize," she said, "for not trusting you about the bakery."_

_"You don't have to-,"_

_"Just listen to me, will you?" she cut across him. When he nodded, Hermione continued, "Your happiness means the world to me, and if you think that leaving the Auror Office to run a bakery in Diagon Alley will get you the happiness you want, then I'm all for it."_

_"Seriously?"_

_"Don't believe me?"_

_He scoffed, "Your enthusiasm about it was a bit muted before."_

_"I'll prove it to you."_

_"How?"_

_Worrying her bottom lip, she removed her camisole, tossing it on the floor. Afterwards, she slowly undid her bra and pushed her knickers down so that it pooled her ankles. (It was at this time that she noticed Harry's eyes had grown hungry, taking in her nakedness like she was Aphrodite. He closed the_ Quidditch Times, _chucking it atop the bedside table as if it was distracting him from the main event.) Unscrewing the lid of the jam jar, Hermione – urged by the spontaneous side of her (_ Go on, do it! _it said) – poured raspberry jam over her breasts, letting it avalanche down her body. It was almost comical in the way that Harry's mouth dropped open in shock, but there was nothing comical in the way his eyes flashed, the hungriness being replaced with a kind of starvation._

_"The jam's for me?" he asked, husky._

_"All of it," she confirmed._

_That was when he took her, roughly at that, kissing and licking and tasting the sheen of raspberry jam over her skin. Not only that, but Harry went down on her, putting one of her legs on one shoulder and the other leg on his other shoulder. He then leaned forward, his tongue on her folds. Unable to help it, she moaned, hastily grounding against his hot mouth. And when he sucked on her labium, she threw her head back and nearly screamed, her hands feral in his already feral hair. She was lost…a ship out in the middle of the ocean surrounded by the open sea. She began sinking when he found her clitoris, moving his tongue over it lovingly. He was torturing her and she was close to being submerged in the water that threatened to come out of her like a tsunami._

_"Harry, I'm nearly there," she said, breathless._

_Quickly, he pushed into her and when he did, she felt him get even harder – like having the world's hardest object stuffed inside of her. But she didn't spare this much of a thought…she couldn't…not when Harry began to thrust in her, so deep that he kept pushing and rubbing against her cervix. He moaned and she cried out…it was a sex symphony, featuring the voices of Harry and Hermione. When he balled the sheets on either side of her head in his fists, his erection tightened considerably – she could definitely attest to this. Soon after, he pumped his cum into her, driving her mad from the way his erection pulsated, semen squirting her vaginal walls like a Muggle water gun. This triggered her own orgasm, one that came on hard and intense._

_When they were finished, Harry refused to pull out of Hermione. Rather, he kissed her again and again and again, over and over and over…it was like he couldn't get enough. And if anyone asked her, she'd say the exact same thing of him. Plus, she liked the way his tongue explored hers, it navigating a terrain it was becoming more familiar with. She found this to be more than intimate…hot, actually…and the best thing about it was that it was hers and she could have it whenever she wanted._

_"So a bakery, huh?" Hermione said._

_Harry, having already taken to her neck to wreak havoc with a storm of love bites across it, laughed, "Is that all you can think of at the moment?"_

_"Don't tell me you haven't a plan!" she insisted, though didn't move (because Harry was sucking even more of her neck now – simply put it, she'd be flooded with love bites come morning)._

_"Later," he said, distracted._

_Hermione huffed, "We're not going into this blind, are we?"_

_"We?" he asked, taking a break from ravaging her neck. "You want in?"_

_"Not with the Northumberland Dragon Sanctuary opening so soon."_

_"How about afterwards?"_

_"You don't mind working with me?" she asked._

_"Hermione," he said, taken aback, "you were the one who got me interested in opening a bakery in the first place."_

_"Battenberg?"_

_"That," he said, "and everything else you taught me."_

_"If anything, I'm surprised you listened."_

_Harry grinned as he went back to her neck – and Hermione couldn't believe it, she felt him stiffen! Clearly, he was willing to have another go of things – and something else Hermione couldn't believe, she was too!_

_"One last thing," and she wrapped her legs around his waist, caging him to her. "Have you thought of a name?"_

_As it turned out, Harry did._

_So after securing the necessary funds from Gringotts, Jean, replacing Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, opened in November of 2001. The fanfare that came with the opening was unbelievable: Diagon Alley was like the London Underground during rush hour, with witches and wizards clamoring to be the first customer – not that it mattered any. And what do you know it, Rita Skeeter was there too, leading the charge. However, instead of placing an order, she bugged Harry about a potential cookbook that featured his recipes and his recipes only. (_ It'd be a bestseller, _she told him with a smile, her gold teeth winking at him.) In fact, Jean was so busy that Harry commandeered the help of Mrs Weasley, much to Ginny's chagrin – who was still bitter about Harry and Hermione's relationship._

_"Why Jean?" Hermione asked him one night._

_They were in bed, naked under the covers having just finished making love._

_"It's your middle name," he said simply._

_"And you named your bakery after that?"_

_"No," he shook his head. "I named our bakery after you."_

_"Our?" she repeated, confused. "I'm not a partner-"_

_"Yet," Harry interrupted with a smile._

_"Have you thought about hiring someone else?" Hermione asked. "I mean, Mrs Weasley has been a big help, but I don't think she's willing to work full-time."_

_"She said she was," and Harry stretched his arms and legs, yawning a little._

_" I don't want you to overwork yourself," she said, bothered by the thought of it._

_"Trust me, I'm not," was his reply. "Besides, this is something that I like to do, even more than what I did at the Auror Office." He then leaned over and kissed her._ _"How about you come in one day and try it for yourself."_

_Hermione considered this and said, "Well, I could now that the Northumberland Dragon Sanctuary is over with."_

_"What about tomorrow?"_

_She looked at him and asked, "You really want me there?"_

_"More than anything."_

_And that was how Hermione got started with Jean, handing in her resignation to the Beast Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures just after New Year's. Because while her work at the Ministry was worthwhile in some aspects, her work at Jean was worthwhile in every aspect, especially since it was with Harry. For a period of time, Mrs Weasley continued to help out, refusing the salary Harry tried to give her, something that he greatly disliked. However, when Bill and Fleur announced they were pregnant, Mrs Weasley reduced her hours, and even more so when they announced they were pregnant again. But such was fine considering Harry and Hermione were able to handle everything themselves, even though there was a titanic of orders coming in day after day and week after week. Frankly, Jean was famous. (_ Can you imagine if it was called Potter's Pâtisserie instead? _Harry asked her, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.)_

_Yet things took a turn…a major turn…when Sean came into their lives, quite unexpectedly too._

_It was after work one day – sometime in late January or early February – when Hermione took the rubbish to the alleyway in the back, levitating several bags of it with her wand. But she stopped short upon seeing a boy digging in the dustbin, taking scraps of food he found there and eating it. Startled, the bags of rubbish clamored to the ground (as if they had protested at the way they had been manhandled), causing the boy's head to snap up like a Muggle jack-in-the-box. His green eyes stared at her, unblinking._

_Recovering as quickly as she could, Hermione said to him gently, "Hi there," and waved her hand, a smile on her face. "My name's Hermione," and she palmed her chest. "What's yours?"_

_He didn't respond…only looked at her in the same way she imagined that the witches and wizards looked at Harry when he took a detour to Knockturn Alley the summer before second year._

_"Can you tell me your name?" she repeated, her smile waning like the crescent moon._

_No answer._

_"How old are you? Four…five?" she asked next._

_Again, there was no answer._

_"Your parents? They can't be far from here, can they?" and Hermione looked around, hoping to see a frantic parent running down the alleyway, searching for their lost son._

_Still no answer._

_"What about siblings…do you have a brother or sister?"_

_Unmoving, Hermione wondered if she was talking to a statue – for all intents and purposes, she kind of was._

_Sighing, she slowly made her way over to him, holding her hands in the air so that he knew she meant him no harm. His eyes, eyes that reminded her so much of Harry's, watched her like guard towers, widening the closer she got. Because of this, she expected him to scamper when she reached the dustbin…and was more than surprised when he didn't. She lifted him into her arms, realizing that he was completely naked. Hermione waved her wand, conjuring a wool blanket, and cocooned him in it._

_"Let's get you in the warm, okay?" she said, rubbing small circles across his back._

_The only response the boy gave was that of nestling his head in the crook of her shoulder, using it as a pillow of sorts._

_Despite the situation at hand, Hermione smiled, trying to flatten the cowlick standing up the back of his head. (_ Doesn't it ever lie flat? _Mrs Weasley asked Harry before his Hearing at the Ministry.)_

_Once inside, Hermione told Harry of the Lost Boy – since he hadn't a name he was willing to share,_ Lost Boy _was what she referred to him as – and after running some simple diagnostics (_ I read the theory behind them in a book, _she explained), she found that the Lost Boy was unable to speak._

_"Is he really?" Harry asked._

_"It seems so," Hermione replied._

_They decided to take him to the Auror Office as Harry assured that Neville could help them. And help them he did. After accessing Ministry Records, as Aurors were wont to do, Neville told them that the boy's name was Sean, one whose parents were murdered by Death Eaters that managed to evade Azkaban after the War. (Such Death Eaters were the same ones Harry was tasked with finding when he worked for the Auror Office.)_

_"When were his parents murdered?" Hermione asked._

_"Early in 2001," Neville said. "He was orphaned afterwards."_

_"Orphaned where?"_

_"The Dilys Derwent Children's Ward," Neville answered, referring to Sean's file, "fourth floor of St Mungo's, just across from the Janus Thickey Ward."_

_"How old is he?" said Harry, holding Sean, who had since fallen asleep in his arms._

_"Four," Neville replied, "born on New Year's Day in 1998."_

_"Do you think that Sean suffers from psychological trauma because of what happened to his parents?" Hermione thought to ask. "Maybe that's why he doesn't talk."_

_"According to Healer Patil, that's exactly what's wrong with him," Neville confirmed, his knuckle tapping against Sean's file._

_"There's nothing wrong with him!" Hermione replied tersely, trying to keep her voice down lest she wake Sean up. "He's different…that's all."_

_"Different…of course," Neville agreed sheepishly, his cheeks a rosy red._

_"I suppose we should take him back then," Harry said._

_Hermione only nodded._

_Under the Disillusionment Charm (because the last thing they needed were a bunch of rumors surfacing about how Harry and Hermione already had had a child between them – something that'd surely have Ginny go mad with envy), they passed the Welcome Witch, her nose buried deep in_ Witch Weekly _, and took up the stairs to the fourth floor. However, that was when Sean woke up, almost on instinct alone, and scrambled out of Harry's arms. He tucked his back against the wall, sliding across it like a jewel thief might do on the outside ledge of a tall building. Just before he reached the double doors at the end of the corridor, Harry and Hermione caught up to him._

_"What's wrong?" Harry asked him._

_Of course, Sean didn't answer with words. Instead, he pointed his finger at the Dilys Derwent Children's Ward and shook his head back and forth._

_"He doesn't want to go back," Hermione whispered._

_"I wonder why that is," Harry said._

* * *

Abuse…that was why Sean hadn't wanted to go back to the Dilys Derwent Children's Ward…and it was a small wonder that the Healers were charged with child endangerment and child neglect a short while later. They confessed to the fact that they starved Sean for _being a mute_ , as well as the fact that they starved the other children if their behavior warranted it. Hermione was furious with this, accidentally setting fire to the _Daily Prophet._ (Sean's eyes lit up in fascination when he saw the flames at the kitchen table the morning it happened.) The Healers were sentenced to ten years in Azkaban, something Hermione thought was far too little time. As it was, they appreciated Neville's help as his investigation of the Dilys Derwent Children's Ward was his last with the Auror Office – he left the Ministry shortly after, accepting McGonagall's offer for him to become the new Herbology Professor at Hogwarts.

"He's out like a light," Harry whispered to her. He set Sean on the bed and tucked him in with the bright green blanket Petunia had given him several years ago now.

"Only until the morning," Hermione said, leading Harry out of the room. "Most of the presents under the tree have his name on them."

"Is that such a crime?" he asked, softly shutting the door.

"You spoil him," she admonished.

"I can't help it," Harry shrugged, taking her hand and going back downstairs. "I love him so much."

They both did, actually, and because of this, Harry and Hermione decided to adopt him. It was unfortunate that what followed was the wildest media circus in living memory, the _Daily Prophet, The Quibbler,_ and _Witch Weekly_ reporting record sales. Rita Skeeter, herself, wrote at least a dozen articles on the matter, the most prominent being why Harry and Hermione adopted instead of having a child of their own. And that's not even mentioning the fact that adoptions from the Dilys Derwent Children's Ward soared (Harry and Hermione supposedly leading the charge) while the name _Sean_ became the most popular option to give those born at St Mungo's – and yes, that included boys and girls. Jean was as busy as it had ever been, rivaling that of its neighbor, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, so it was more than helpful that Harry and Hermione had had several employees to keep up with the barbaric mob.

"He's special," Hermione agreed. "I just hope that he'll be able to talk again."

"Want to hear his voice, do you?"

"So much," she sighed.  
 _  
_"Give him time," Harry said. "Sean'll come around."

"You sure?"

"Positive," he replied, pulling her into the sitting room.

"What're you doing?" she asked, curious. "I thought we were going to get ready for bed."

"Not yet," and he shook his head. "Because it's Christmas Eve, I think we should do something special."

"Special?" Hermione repeated. "You had something in mind?"

Harry pointed his wand at the Wizarding Wireless, a recent purchase that they had resolved in putting on the mantle, joining the pictures of James and Lily. The voice of Glenda Chittock, the _Witching Hour's_ host, came on, seeming to be in the middle of promoting Celestina Warbeck's upcoming album, _You Stole My Cauldron But You Can't Have My Heart_. Then, with a chorus of banshees in the background, Celestina Warbeck started to sing.

"Care to dance?" Harry asked.

With a smile, Hermione said, "But we don't know how!"

"Doesn't matter," and he pulled her against him, swaying from side to side.

Their dancing, if one could call it that, wasn't polished or precise, as they moved only a little here and there. It was void of dipping, of lifting, of turning, and of twisting – such was a choreographed dance. Their dance, on the other hand, wasn't choreographed at all…it was more natural instead. What was also natural was the tension that existed between them. Yet it was a good kind of tension (as opposed to a bad kind of tension), one that spoke of the love they had for each other. Hermione thought of them as such anyway: Harry, Hermione, and Sean – of two, there is both; of three, there is all. And sure, she hadn't expected to become a mother at the tender age of twenty-four, sharing a child, one who was going to turn six in a week, with Harry. Life, though, was funny that way, sneaking up on you with one surprise after another. However, she wouldn't trade her surprises for anything else. Hermione was happy now, and had been ever since she decided to visit Harry in the weeks following the War.

Her head against his chest, Hermione said, "Is this _Nothing Like a Holiday Spell_?"

"Been brushing up on Celestina Warbeck's music catalog?"

"Did a bit of reading on her."

"Really?" Harry asked.

"I found out she recorded Puddlemere United's Anthem, _Beat Back Those Bludgers, Boys, and Chuck That Quaffle Here_ , and gave the proceeds to St Mungo's."

"Thoughtful of her, wasn't it?"

Hermione scoffed, "Now they can use the funds to find proper Healers to run the Dilys Derwent Children's Ward, ones that actually care about the children there. Sean-,"

"Is safe now," Harry said. "He's safe with us."

"I just can't help thinking about what he went through," she said. "He hadn't any food, never mind proper food, all because he didn't talk – and the fact that he didn't talk was due to his parents being murdered by Death Eaters makes it all the more horrible!"

"It does," Harry agreed, "but that's in the past." He stopped swaying when _Nothing Like a Holiday Spell_ came to an end. ( _A Witch and Wizard's Wintry Wondrous Land_ replaced it.) "We'll give him a better future…I promise you."

"He definitely seems happier," she said. "He'll be even more so when Teddy comes over tomorrow."

"I'm glad they get along so well," Harry smiled, "and I imagine Andromeda feels the same."

"Hopefully, they won't get into Hagrid's Rock Cakes like they did last year," she said, pointing to a plateful he had sent them – he did so every Christmas.

"Exactly how many windows did they manage to break?"

"Several," and Hermione rolled her eyes, remembering the kerfuffle the Rock Cakes were part of the previous Christmas.

"Let's remember to put them away before Andromeda and Teddy come over then," he said. "I don't have the heart to bin anything Hagrid sends us."

"I feel the same way," Hermione nodded, "although it is nice of him to think of us every year."

"Dudley too," Harry added, his eyes finding the Christmas card on coffee table they had received from Dudley and his wife – along with the announcement that they were expecting.

"Are you going to visit him?" Hermione asked. "I mean, he said you're welcome to."

"Not anytime soon," he replied. "With Sean, I'm not sure how he'll be treated. I don't want him to go through anything I did."

"Dudley's changed though, hasn't he?"

"Seems like it, but that doesn't mean those feelings he had as a kid are all gone. It's possible that some of them are still there." He then bent his head and kissed Hermione. "You and Sean are my only priorities. The most important thing is for us to have a good Christmas together. Merlin knows work keeps us away from Sean much more than we'd like it to."

"So about a holiday?"

"Right now?" and his hands made their way to her waist, arresting it in a tight grip.

"I don't mean this second," Hermione said, "but maybe for Sean's birthday."

"Have anywhere in mind?"

"Actually…yes," and she laughed a little. "I've always wanted to visit the cliffs at Étretat in Normandy, including L'Aiguille and the Porte d'Aval. Also, it might be worth checking out the Chapelle Notre-Dame de la Garde since it's close by."

Harry seemed to consider this and said, "Well, France isn't that far away."

"Not at all," Hermione said, thumbing the band of his grey joggers.

"What're you doing?" he asked, and she saw that his eyes glittered an emerald green.

"From what I remember, you had an erection before that required a bit of handiwork. Since Sean's in bed, I thought now's a good time as any to help you with that."

"How about we change it up a bit?"

"In what way exactly?"

"You see, I have an erection," and he pushed it against her as if to prove his point, "that wants a…blow job."

"We're parents!" Hermione said, scandalized. However, she reckoned that she shouldn't be scandalized in the slightest because while she hadn't planned on giving Harry a blow job, she kind of wanted to. It was dirty in its own way, and such dirtiness made it all the more attractive to her. She wanted to please Harry in the best way possible and if a blow job was what he wanted, then a blow job was what he was going to get – to hell with the dirtiness of it all!

"Of course, I'll repay the favor," he said, licking his lips.

She quickly agreed to this, exciting as it was, and before they started, Harry and Hermione put up the strongest Silencing Charms they could. Better safe than sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are at the end of For Old Times' Sake. I sincerely want to thank everyone that thought to bookmark, comment (Yes, I did read through all of them!), and give kudos on this story. It definitely means a lot. Hopefully this epilogue was satisfactory enough - something I battled with for a while. Also, just in case anyone was wondering, the beginning of the epilogue takes place in 2003; the flashback takes place in 2001 and 2002; and the ending of the epilogue returns to 2003. As always, thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading.


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